


The Hands I Used to Touch

by Evenatango



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-08-17 06:49:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 40
Words: 144,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8134238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evenatango/pseuds/Evenatango
Summary: After Delia's accident her family is nowhere to be found, so Patsy is allowed to take her home to their flat when she's discharged from hospital.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The first few chapters are heavily angsty, but there will be fluff later as well so don't despair too deeply :)  
> Also for those who have read other stuff I've written, I know this is covering the same time period as Little Things Mean a Lot and thus has some overlap in premise. Basically I spend far too much time thinking about Delia's recovery process and how it would have impacted on their relationship. I make no apologies for my obsession!

_The first thing she was aware of was pain. Her head was throbbing so badly even her hair follicles ached and her skin felt raw, burning all along her left side from ribs to hip as if she had been caught in a fire._ Had _there been a fire? She tried to move her legs and found she couldn't. Was she paralysed? Was she trapped under something in a burning building, half unconscious from smoke inhalation? Was that why it was so difficult to think? In a panic, she wrenched open eyelids that seemed to be made of lead and felt the terrible dizzying sensation of disorientation at the sight that greeted her._

_The light had been so bright that she had only a second to take in her surroundings before her eyes had snapped shut again of their own accord, but it was enough to tell her that something was very wrong. There had been a small room, a bed with curtains half drawn around it, machines and cabinets. She felt it should mean something to her, although she was almost sure she hadn't been there before, but it was so hard to think through the pain in her head. After what felt like a long time, she tried opening her eyes again, slower this time. Green walls, a water jug on a little table beside her, a door with a window in it,a light bulb above the bed that hummed slightly, as if there were a very small bee trapped inside.  
The dreadful disorientation was absent this time, but the room still refused to explain itself as she gazed around with the slightly blurred vision of the newly awake. Where was she? This wasn't where she was supposed to be... was it? Her confusion escalated into alarm as she realised that she didn't know. Not only where she was supposed to be, but _ _**anything** _ _. She began to search her mind desperately for any scrap of memory that she might be able to hold onto and found she could not come up with anything at all. It was only when she realised that she couldn't even recall her own name that she began to scream._

_Once it had started, she found she had no control over the sound she was making. The long, unbroken note seemed to be coming from outside herself, jabbing into her already aching head like a white hot blade. Her lungs began to hurt but she couldn't even stop to draw breath. Dimly, she wondered if it was possible to die of screaming so hard you stopped breathing, but the thought didn't scare her because there was no room in her mind for any more panic than she was already feeling._

_Suddenly there were people everywhere. She wanted to ask them to help her but she couldn't get the words out through the scream that was still pouring from her in a torrent like water from a burst dam. Two women in dresses with puffed sleeves and high white caps were holding her arms down, though she wasn't making any attempt to move them. Three more were gathered around the bed, all shouting at once while a man prepared a syringe that a moment later was plunged into her arm._

_At last the scream tailed off into a whimper and she was able to draw in a long, shuddering breath that hurt as much as it soothed her oxygen starved lungs. She wanted to thank the people for whatever they had done to make the noise stop, but now the room was softening around the edges, melting into darkness like butter into toast. Before she could work out how to make her tongue form words, her eyes had closed and unconsciousness had engulfed her._

_For a long time, she knew no more._

_... ... ... ..._

 

When Patsy had arrived at Nonnatus that evening she had been a little concerned about her missing bike, but not overly worried. She thought that perhaps a well-meaning neighbour had recognised it as belonging to a midwife and, seeing it parked outside the Nurses' home, taken it upon themselves to return it to the nuns. Or maybe Delia had been delayed and left it at the hospital. It hardly mattered. If her bike wasn't there she would accept a scolding from Sister Evangelina and borrow one of the spares from the bike shed. Mostly she was thinking ahead to what would happen after her shift. She could feel (or imagined she could feel) the slight weight of the key she had just had cut for Delia in her pocket and it made her want to laugh aloud or dance down the street like a show girl because finally all she had never quite dared to dream had come true.

She certainly hadn't been ready for the sight that greeted her when she pushed open the door.

Usually at that time all those who weren't currently on duty would be sitting together in the parlour, or else going about their own affairs in their rooms. Instead Trixie, Sister Winifred and Nurse Crane were gathered around the telephone in the hall, listening to Sister Julienne apparently arguing with someone on the other end of the line. She thought Trixie might even be crying, though she had never seen her do so before. Something truly awful must have happened.

'She must be there! Her things were found in the street after an accident. Witnesses say the girl involved was taken away in an ambulance. If she isn't on a ward perhaps... perhaps you could check if a body fitting the description has been taken to the mortuary'.

They had all been focused so intensely on what Sister Julienne was saying that no one had noticed Patsy until she put a hand out to Sister Winifred, who happened to be standing nearest, and murmured 'what's happened Sister? Has someone been hurt?'

That was when the chaos erupted. Sister Winifred had screamed, actually _screamed_ as she saw who was standing beside her. Trixie had almost knocked Nurse Crane flying in her rush to hug Patsy and Sister Julienne had put the phone down without a word of explanation to the undoubtedly bemused person at the other end. For a while there had been nothing but noise and confusion as Patsy was hugged and exclaimed over and so many questions were asked on both sides that there was no hope of answering any of them.

At last the full story was explained and Patsy had pieced together what must have happened.

Oh God. _Delia._

To someone looking at things from the outside, not much would appear to have changed in the scene, except now the one clutching the telephone in a white-knuckled grip was not a nun of middle years but a young red-headed woman, standing with her back to those who waited a few yards away talking about what a 'nice young woman' Delia was, and how anxious her parents would be as though they were unaware of the waking nightmare they had just plunged Patsy into. But of course, they _were_. Patsy had been making sure of that for months.

For a few moments after she put down the receiver Patsy had stood as if frozen, trying to remember how she would have acted if this had happened to someone else. She couldn't fall apart now. It was more important than it had ever been to keep up the pretence about her and Delia, if she didn't she might never see her again. Oh God. No, she couldn't think like that. Patsy closed her eyes for a moment, gathering up the tattered shreds of her composure into something that almost resembled her usual manner and considered how she could answer the question Nurse Crane had just asked. She had been on the phone for a long time, but still she didn't feel like she really knew anything at all. _Was_ there any news?

'No. At least, they wouldn't tell me much, especially over the phone. You know what the rules are like. But they couldn't get in touch with her parents either and Delia... Delia isn't well enough to make her own decisions right now. They're considering letting me act as her next of kin, just until they can find a relative. Since our names are down on the lease together there is proof at least that we know each other and the hospital does know me from my time nursing there. Matron knows Delia and I were close so they said we might discuss making... allowances. I have to go there to speak to them'.

In spite of her iron-willed effort to keep herself under control, the trio gathered around her could see she looked dreadful. Her face was pale and haunted, hands visibly trembling just the slightest bit. But for practical, composed Patsy even this slight tremor betrayed how intense her emotions must be. It must, thought Sister Winifred, be the shock of knowing how easily this could have been her. After all, Patsy's little Welsh friend had been riding _her_ bike. The poor girl must be still in shock and of course, concerned for her friend.

Only Trixie's gaze contained more than wide eyed sympathy, and she watched Patsy with a measuring gaze that suggested she understood the depth of her friend's distress to a far greater degree than she was letting on. Not that Patsy noticed of course. She was running her hand distractedly over her now unravelling plaits and biting her lip, deep in thought and seemingly unaware that everyone was staring at her. The silence was becoming a little strained when Nurse Crane stood up briskly.

'Well then. Would you like me to run you over in my car?'

The words had clearly been intended as solicitude, but they were barely out of her mouth when Trixie turned to stare at her in horrified disbelief and Sister Winifred gave a little squeak of alarm, clapping her hands over her mouth. In an uncharacteristic show of discomfiture Nurse Crane coloured to a deep crimson and inhaled sharply as she realised exactly what she had just said.

'Oh Dear, I'm so sorry. I meant... well, would you like a lift to the hospital? You can't take the bus in this state and I wouldn't suggest you get on a bicycle either'.

Luckily it seemed Patsy was still too dazed to have registered the double meaning in Nurse Crane's words and turned to her with a pasted on smile and the glazed look of a person who is just barely forcing themselves to recognise your existence.

'Thank you Nurse Crane, I would appreciate that. Would you mind waiting a moment though? I can't go to the hospital looking like this. I have to make a good impression or they'll never find me fit. This is already rather unorthodox'.

'Take all the time you need. I'll wait here'.

The room remained unnaturally silent as Patsy passed by the people who had become her family and headed for the stairs. Although both Trixie and Sister Winifred laid gentle hands on her shoulder or sleeve as she passed by, somehow her expression belied any words of comfort.  
It was more than five minutes after they heard the sound of her bedroom door clicking shut before anyone spoke again.

'The poor kid, it must have come as such a shock'.

As usual, Nurse Crane was the first to break the silence, but for once her words carried no command or even disapproval, just a weary sympathy that very few of them had ever heard there before.

'It was enough of a shock to _me,_ seeing her standing next to me looking as right as rain after I'd run all the way here to tell Sister Julienne about her accident. I almost thought I was seeing a ghost'.

'Where _is_ Sister Julienne? It doesn't seem like her to have wandered off at a time like this. I thought she'd have stayed to make sure Patsy was alright'.

Trixie was looking around the room as though she expected Sister Julienne to pop up from behind a piece of furniture and take charge of things, but Sister Winifred was shaking her head as she replied:

'When Patsy told the hospital she didn't know the whereabouts of Delia's family either, Sister Julienne said she was going over to ask Mr Hereward if he could get in touch with the Pastor of Delia's old parish. She thinks he might be able to help them track down any living relatives still in the area, or else find out what's become of the parents. I do hope they find someone. It really is too bad for poor Patsy to be burdened with this. What will they do if this girl doesn't get better? I really think it might be best for her to say no and let the hospital make the decisions. In truth it seems almost improper to do anything else'

'I hardly think Patsy's worrying about that right now Sister. Delia was... is... a very good friend of Patsy's. She can care for her far better than any impersonal hospital official or government welfare officer. Blood isn't the only thing that makes a person your family and I don't see why she should be denied that by people who know nothing about it'

Sister Winifred looked a little shocked at the ferocity with which Trixie delivered this speech, but Trixie glared back at her unapologetically, spots of pink high on her cheeks as she seemed to dare the young nun to contradict her.

'Nobody is suggesting otherwise Nurse Franklin, there's no need to take that tone. Sister Winifred was merely expressing a reasonable concern over the huge responsibility that comes with acting as next of kin to a patient in a critical state. She is simply afraid that it may be too much for Nurse Mount to handle'.

'I can do it'.

They all jumped guiltily as Patsy stepped back into the room. None of them had heard her coming. Somehow in the scant few minutes she had been absent she had managed to change into a smart blouse and impeccably pressed slacks. Her hair was newly brushed and swept back into a neat, practical chignon and her make up had been touched up, although Trixie noticed that she was no longer wearing mascara, as if she anticipated tears in the near future.

Nurse Crane recovered herself quickly and gave Patsy an encouraging smile.

'Of course you can Nurse Mount. You proved your mettle the night of the Bissette still birth and I wouldn't dream of doubting your competence now. Shall we go then, if you're all ready?'

'Yes, thank you Nurse Crane'.

Although she managed to keep her shoulders straight and her expression neutral as she followed Nurse Crane from the room, Patsy found she was entirely unable to meet either of her friends' eyes as she passed them. For that moment she couldn't bear to know whether their looks would contain sympathy or suspicion or even disgusted scorn.  
She was half afraid that seeing either emotion would break her altogether and even more fearful that it would not, because she didn't want to admit to herself that as much as she loved these people, their opinion of her scarcely seemed to matter anymore.

It was a relief when the front door closed behind her and she could no longer feel their stares, hot against the back of her coat.


	2. Chapter 2

_A red balloon skittering across a busy fairground. A milkman whistling 'I heard a song in a taxi' on his way down a sunlit country lane. Toffee gluing teeth tightly together while fireworks burst overhead in a dozen splendid colours. The rich, warm smell of coffee and... bleach? She opened her eyes and the images faded, but the sharp scent of bleach remained. The girl on the bed blinked and looked around, trying to get here bearings._

_There was a woman standing over her, holding her wrist in one hand and looking at the watch pinned to the front of her dress with the other. She tried to speak but discovered that her throat was so dry and sore the best she could manage was the kind of feeble croak one might expect from an extremely aged frog. It was enough to get the woman's attention however and she turned to pour some water from a jug by the bed._

_'Here pet, take a few sips of this, you'll feel better'._

_She did as she was told, although was embarrassed to find some of the water dribbled out the glass and down her chin, as though she were a child just learning to do without a bottle. But the liquid eased her throat, and while her voice was as hoarse as if she had spent a good part of the day screaming at the top of her lungs, she was able to form words._

_'Thank you for your help. Can you tell me where I am? Who are you? What happened to me?'_

_'You're in the hospital, there was an accident... But... don't you know me Delia? It's Joan. We've worked together for_ years _. You_ have _to know me! You can't have just...forgotten'._

_Her voice sounded panicked, slipping into a regional accent that she couldn't work out as the woman became more and more upset._

_'Oh... I'm sorry, I'm afraid I have. I... I don't remember much of anything right now. Delia. Is that me? I can't... I'm sorry, my head hurts. I'm sure I'll remember in a minute'._

_She wasn't sure at all, really, but the woman... Joan... looked so afflicted by the news that she wanted to reassure her. And it did feel as though if only her head would clear and stop aching she would be able to think, and then maybe she really would remember._

_'I'm going to get the doctor'._

_Joan looked stricken as she almost ran from the room, slamming the door with such a force that it made Delia wince._

_Her thoughts felt slow and sluggish, like treacle trying to ooze out of a tilted tin. Already, she realised, the details of what had just happened were slipping from her as if she had been dreaming it. No, no,_ no _, she didn't_ want _to forget. The scant information she had just been given was all she knew of her identity. She was sure she'd remember just as soon as her head stopped hurting but right now she wanted to hold onto what facts she had._

_Her name was Delia. There had been... an accident? Or was it illness? Something was wrong with her anyway, that's why she was in a bed. She was in the hospital. Or... was she at home? She looked down at herself and saw tubes, a bed with railings and a loose white gown. Hospital then. The woman who had spoken to her must be a nurse. That made sense. What had her name been?  
But all she remembered was her appalled expression as she hurried from the room. What had she said to scare the nurse so badly? She sighed. It was no good. If only the feeling of pressure in her head would ease she might be able to think, but as it was the memory was running away like water trickling through her fingers no matter how tightly she tried to cup it._

_What did she know for sure? Her name was Delia. She was in bed, in a green hospital room. There had been a nurse here, but she'd gone now. Her name was Delia._

_Delia. Delia. Delia._

... ... ... ...

'The fact of the matter is that once Delia's physical condition improves, if we can't find anyone to claim her and her memory does not return, she will have to be transferred to a psychiatric ward'.

Patsy had been in the Matron's office for almost half an hour now. At first she had simply been asking Patsy for information about Delia's family – did she have any siblings or cousins? Grandparents even? But on this Patsy had been no help. Since her grandmother died in their second year of training Delia rarely mentioned her family. Her parents had emigrated to Canada but Patsy didn't know where specifically, and if the reports from Mr and Mrs Busby's old pastor were anything to go by no one else seemed to know either. Until a forwarding address could be found there was little that could be done to get in touch with them. The only one that might have known their whereabouts was Delia herself, and she was hardly in a state to divulge the information. Eventually Matron had seemed to realise the futility of this line of questioning and had finally deigned to tell Patsy the details of Delia's condition.

The majority of her wounds were fairly superficial – she had several bruises and abrasions from the road, particularly along her left side down as far as her hip where she had skidded across the tarmac, a couple of fractured ribs and a sprained ankle. All these would heal in time without much risk of complication and with luck, very little permanent scarring. No vital organs in the abdominal area seemed to have been injured and Delia did not appear to be suffering any internal bleeding. The main concern was her head injury. The fall had caused severe concussion and since being brought in Delia had already suffered three seizures. More worrying still however was the apparent loss of both short and long term memory exhibited since she had regained consciousness.

The words had felt like ice water seeping into Patsy's veins as the implications of what she was being told hit her. Delia would have no idea who she was. She had been listening to Matron in silence, afraid that speaking would reveal the depths of her feelings, but when Matron said that Delia would be sent to the psychiatric ward she couldn't hold back.

'Psych? No! You can't send her there. It wouldn't help her get better. She... she doesn't belong there. I've read about amnesia. A little anyway, in journals. They all agree that recall can be triggered by familiarity. I can look after her once she's discharged from the hospital. Please Matron. It's not as though she doesn't have a home to come back to and I'm sure she'd be more comfortable out of a hospital environment, especially if her memory is as you say'.

Matron sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose wearily. She knew Nurse Busby and liked her well – she was an excellent nurse and a sweet girl, and it was hitting everyone hard to see her in this state. Nurse Harris, who had been the one to discover the girl's condition, had been almost hysterical and had had to be excused from the rest of her shift. Even forewarned half the girls she sent in to tend to Miss Busby came out misty eyed and pale. But whatever their own feelings on the matter they all had to look to the practicalities, and whether or not she wanted to send Delia to the psychiatric ward, her choices were currently rather limited.

'You are to be commended on your compassion Nurse Mount, and in general I would agree that amnesia patients are best off in their own home. But in this case... well, have you really considered the implications? Certainly there is room to hope that when the swelling putting pressure on Delia's brain goes down her condition may improve, but with trauma like this there is no guarantee of that. Can you really commit yourself to looking after Delia if she continues to need round the clock care? She may never recover her memories and her seizures may continue indefinitely. They may even get worse. I'm afraid we just don't know when it comes to cases like this. I know you are concerned for your friend, but you must consider whether your proposal is really in her best interests'.

Matron observed the young woman sitting across the desk from her as she spoke. She knew Patsy well as Nurse Mount and it had been her unflappable competence on the wards as well as her close friendship with Delia Busby that had convinced her to break with tradition and speak to her about the case, but even now she wasn't entirely certain it had been the right decision. It was a lot to ask of someone so young and Nurse Mount was looking very pale, although her posture spoke of confidence and control rather than the distraught impulsiveness she had so often seen in the relatives of critically ill patients. The truth was that she _wanted_ to be convinced, but even so she couldn't say yes without making absolutely sure that Patsy could handle this. If it went wrong there could be a great deal of trouble for the hospital, especially if the parents reappeared from whatever corner of the world they had retreated to and started making a fuss.

'I know it might be difficult, especially if her memory doesn't improve, but I am a qualified nurse with experience in trauma and psychiatric nursing. I can handle seizures and administer any medication Delia might need, and I know how to deal with patients in a delicate mental state. I'm not some hysterical friend making rash promises, I truly can do this Matron'.

'I don't doubt your competence as a nurse, I am well aware of your skill and professionalism. Your days here aren't so far behind you that I have forgotten the time you spent on my ward, Nurse Mount. But I'm still not sure your proposal is a practical one. You are currently working as a midwife at Nonnatus House, are you not?'

'I am'.

'Well then, how do you propose to juggle your work load there with caring for an amnesia patient who needs constant supervision?'

Patsy swallowed. She had already thought of the answer to this question, and although she was loath to fall back on her father's money after declaring her independence so many years earlier, some things were more important than pride.

'I would take a leave of absence from Nonnatus House. My family has sufficient private funds to allow me to take time away from work to care for Delia for as long as required'.

Seeing that Matron still seemed unconvinced, Patsy spoke the words she had not wanted to say aloud. She knew she would stay with Delia as long as it took, but without being able to explain why, she had to tell Matron something that would convince her that she was keeping a level head over this, and that meant acting as though her caring for Delia was a short term solution.

'No doubt when an address can be found for them Delia's parents will return from Canada and would be able to care for her themselves. And if not... the option of moving to a psychiatric ward at a later date would still be there. It seems to me there would be no harm in trying to care for Delia at home first, especially as her amnesia may be temporary. If it is not, being at home will still give her the greatest chance to develop an independent life with what she has. If she stays in hospital that won't happen and all she will ever be is an amnesia patient. Of course, if it becomes clear that Delia's need for full time care is permanent, an alternative long term solution could be sought. At least this way Delia has a chance of regaining a normal life, and I have little doubt that her parents would be happier knowing that Delia is somewhere homely and safe, with friends rather than psychiatric patients and unfamiliar doctors and nurses'.

Matron seemed to consider this for a long time, regarding Patsy over the wire rims of her spectacles. Patsy tried to sit up straight and exude an aura of confidence, though she had to clasp her hands in her lap to keep them from shaking. It felt as though she were being interviewed for a job she wanted more than she had ever wanted anything before, and she had no idea whether or not she would be found suitable for the post. Eventually though Matron gave a small, stiff nod.

'Very well. We will try doing as you say, but I will arrange for a district nurse to look in on you daily and report back. If they think you aren't coping, or that it would be in Delia's best interests to return to hospital for any reason, we will have to reconsider. I'm sure you appreciate that this is a highly unorthodox situation Nurse Mount, and if it wasn't for the fact that you have both been nurses at this very hospital I'm sure it would not be allowed. But I agree that in the absence of any immediate family coming forth to claim her, Nurse Busby would fair best in her own home'.

Patsy breathed a long sigh of relief at the pronouncement, though she tried hard not to let it show too plainly on her face. It wouldn't do to let Matron see how much this meant to her.

'Thank you. I appreciate that'.

'Of course you understand that it will be a few days before Delia is in any state to leave the hospital. Her concussion was severe and she needs complete rest and observation, particularly with the seizures'.

'Of course. But I was hoping... might I be allowed to see her? I know I'm not strictly speaking a family member, but given the arrangement we have come to?'

'Yes Nurse Mount, I think in the circumstances that rule can be relaxed as well. For the time being we will consider you to be Nurse Busby's sister and will treat you as such until a blood relative can be found. I will take you up to the ward now if you wish, but I'm sure I don't need to tell you that Delia will not be exactly as you last saw her. It may be distressing'.

'I know, but I do need to see her. Besides, if I'm to care for her I need to familiarise myself with her condition'.

'Very well. Follow me then nurse'.

Patsy stood up and followed the Matron out of the small, sparsely furnished office towards a private room off the main ward. There was no sound except the smart clip clip of Matron's shoes on the polished floor and, somewhere in the distance, on another ward perhaps, the sound of a very young child crying. It was a lonely, desolate sound that made Patsy's eyes prickle in sympathy. For a moment she wished she were a small girl again herself and could turn to someone else to make everything alright. But of course in reality she had had to rely on herself from the age of ten, it was all she knew. Deep down she acknowledged that even had there been someone else to turn to, she would never have willingly given this task to anyone else, no matter how difficult it might prove to be. Delia needed her. Patsy took a deep breath as they reached the door to Delia's room, squared her shoulders and, murmuring a word of thanks to Matron, turned the handle.


	3. Chapter 3

Patsy felt her breath catch in her throat as she stepped into the room. Part of her hadn't really believed it, _couldn't_ really believe it until she saw Delia with her own eyes, as if even now it might somehow have been a terrible mistake.

But there she was.

This morning Delia had been brimming over with joy, happiness radiating from her even as she'd been dashing off with every expectation of a dressing down from the ward Sister. But now... In spite of her stature Patsy had never really thought of Delia as being small before. Her presence had always filled whatever room they were in until even the tallest man couldn't have hoped to overshadow her. Now she seemed barely more than child sized – fragile and lost, stranded in the middle of an island of starched sheets and pillows. Her face was bruised and her hair, usually so carefully arranged, had been hurriedly pulled back, fringe brushed away from her swollen and discoloured forehead.

In spite of the warning from Matron and her own expectations, Patsy's heart gave a sickening jolt at the sight. She wanted to run to the bedside and take Delia gently in her arms. She wanted to sob and kiss her and tell her how glad she was that she was alive. She wanted to stroke her hair and whisper over and over again that she loved her.

Delia looked up as the door opened, but her expression gave no hint that she knew who Patsy was and after a moment her gaze returned to the blanket, as if just raising her chin cost her too much effort.

_Oh Delia._

Somehow, in spite of her own feelings Patsy kept her voice calm and gentle as she entered, closing the door softly behind her and moving slowly over to sit beside the bed, as though Delia were a wild deer who might take fright at any sudden noise or movement.

'Hello Delia, my name's Patsy. I came as soon as I heard what had happened. I don't suppose you remember me at the moment, but you and I are good friends'.

'You're a friend of mine?'

'That's right, we share a flat together'.

'Do we? How nice. Is this our flat?'

'No sweetheart, you're in the hospital. Can you remember what happened to you?'

Delia was silent for almost a full minute, frowning as much as the bruises on her face would allow. She seemed to be concentrating hard on the question, as though it required a great deal of thought to be figured out. When she spoke again it was slowly, hesitating over each word.

'I think... I think I had a fit. There were nurses, and a doctor with a torch. Are you a nurse?'

'Yes I am. So are you, we used to work here together, in this hospital. But the fit isn't why they brought you here. You were knocked off a bicycle on your way to work this morning. Do you remember any of that?'

'A bicycle? No... I don't... I can't remember anything. I'm sorry. I'm sure it'll come back to me soon'.

'It's not important now. The main thing is that you're alright... _Are_ you alright? Is there anything I can do for you? Or anything you'd like me to bring you? They gave me the things you had on you when you were hurt but your clothes will need a spot of detergent and a visit to a tailor before they're wearable I'm afraid'.

The words sounded foolish to Patsy even as she was saying them. Of course Delia wasn't alright. Since her first phone call to the hospital she had kept herself from falling apart with the thought that if she could just see her, even for a minute, she would know what to do, because it was _Delia_ and things could never be awkward between them. But now she was here speaking to this politely distant version of Delia she found herself falling back on platitudes and stock phrases from the wards, as if fetching a cup of tea for her would somehow return the world to rights.

'That's kind, but I don't suppose I need anything. I don't know. It's still rather difficult to focus. I keep thinking that if only I could go home everything would be alright, but then I realise that I don't know what home is supposed to be like, and then I remember I don't even know what _I'm_ supposed to be like, and it's frightening. Nothing makes sense'.

It seemed as though Delia had forgotten there was anyone else in the room, her words were addressed to the blankets in her lap and tears had begun to trickle down her cheeks. She looked exhausted and afraid. Patsy reached out to take her hand, trying to offer some comfort, but Delia jerked it back reflexively.

For a fraction of a second she sat as if frozen, fingers still extended towards the silently weeping girl, then Patsy withdrew her hand, swallowing hard around the lump that had formed in her throat at this unequivocal proof that Delia had no idea who she was. Somehow she managed to keep her voice almost steady as she spoke, though the tears gathering in her own eyes were making it difficult to see.

'It's alright. You had a bad accident and you're still in shock, even without all the painkillers they're giving you. It's wonderful stuff but morphine can leave you feeling rather disoriented. For now you just need to focus on resting. There will be plenty of time to sort out everything else, and you won't have to do it alone. I'm going to help you take care of everything, I promise. You don't need to worry'.

At that Delia looked back up at her, and although Patsy tried to tell herself not to expect it, her heart still twisted painfully when Delia's eyes did not shine with the love she was so used to seeing there.

'You're crying'.

Patsy blinked hard but fresh tears seemed to well up as quickly as she could clear them and it was all she could do to keep them from spilling over onto the vast tundra of blankets that separated her hand from Delia's.

'I'm not. Not really. I'm just sorry you're hurt. Don't worry'.

'...Patsy?'

Delia sounded uncertain, as though they had been introduced some time ago and she was not really confident that she had remembered the name correctly.

'That's right'.

'Patsy. Yes. Thank you Patsy, it was very kind of you to visit me. I really am glad you came and I'm grateful for everything you've said. I want to know all about how we met and what you can tell me about my life before this happened, but I'm so tired, and my head's hurting... everything is so foggy. Maybe we could talk again tomorrow?'

Of course, I'll let you get some sleep. I'll come back during visiting hours in the morning'.

'Good night nurse'.

Good night Delia'.

_... ... ... ..._

_She had been telling the truth when she told the kind girl with the red hair that she was tired. She felt as though she hadn't slept for a week. But still, after the girl had closed the door softly behind her she forced herself to keep her eyes open, going over the words they had exchanged in her head. Already she was losing the finer details of their conversation amidst the dense mist that still filled her brain, but she wanted to hold onto the new information she had gained, to try and make it feel like more than a story she was being told.  
Maybe if she said it enough, it would start to feel familiar. Maybe it would start to feel _hers _._

_'My name is Delia. I have a friend called Patsy. She visited me. I am a nurse. I hit my head in an accident, now I'm in hospital. My name is Delia. I have a friend called Patsy. I am a nurse. My name is Delia'._

_Even as she repeated the litany of facts that was all she had to know herself by, she found herself looking down at her hand. The skin seemed still to be tingling slightly where the girl... where_ Patsy _had touched it. When she had reached out to her Delia had pulled back automatically, not because she had wanted to reject the offered friendship, but because the gesture has seemed an intimate comfort that didn't belong to her. To accept it would have felt like pretending to be someone she had never met, as though somehow she were stealing friendship from its rightful owner. Still, a moment after she had moved away she wished she had let Patsy take her hand. She had looked so_ **sad** _afterwards. For all her effort to act as though it didn't matter, it had only been after Delia pulled away that the tears had gone from a shine in her new (old?) friend's eyes to pools just barely held in check by the long tawny lashes surrounding them._

_She didn't know much, but she knew that she didn't want to make this girl cry._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Much as I hate asking, if you like what you read in this story please leave a comment and let me know! (because otherwise I get all insecure and assume it's terrible and ought to be buried in the depths of my writing folder, never to see the light of internet). And if you DON'T like it then please leave a comment and let me know! (because constructive criticism is good for the soul. Or at least for writing improvement). Thank you for your continued reading :) x


	4. Chapter 4

Patsy had intended to go back to the flat after her visit to the hospital - it was her home now after all, but at the last minute she couldn't bring herself to do it. The flat's very emptiness would echo back all that should have been filling it, again and again until there would barely be room for Patsy to squeeze in through the door past the ghosts of a happiness she might never now get to live. No. She would go tomorrow, in the daylight. It would be easier then to push apart the twin beds they had so recently moved together. Easier to separate the few things they had already arranged in a way that would make the bedroom look like it was shared by friends and not a couple. Maybe once that was done she would be able to sleep there without the nightmares she could feel brewing even now, preparing to flare up the moment she closed her eyes. Just for tonight, she would return to Nonnatus House. She might not be able to talk about her troubles, but at least there would be familiar people who cared about her. At least there she could be certain of being _seen_.

It was dark and quiet when she arrived at Nonnatus, and although the idea of sitting down in the parlour with everyone as though this were any other evening was almost unbearable, she was a little disappointed to discover that even Trixie was absent when at last she pushed open their bedroom door. She had spent the long walk from the hospital imagining that they might put a record on and talk about something utterly shallow and smoke until the room was hazy with it. She knew that Trixie's drinking had become a problem, but even so she would not have said no to a visit to 'Trixie's bar' just then. Some nights the soothing power of Horlicks just wasn't enough. Briefly she considered knocking on Barbara's door instead, but dismissed it quickly. Barbara was was an absolute sweetheart, but she didn't want the sympathetic hugs or concerned questions she knew would come if she spoke to Babs. What she wanted from company was a dose of normality, and for that she needed someone who was as good a faker as she was herself. For that she needed Trixie.

For a moment she felt a fleeting stab of concern for her friend – where could she be at this hour? But it passed quickly. Trixie was probably out on a delivery, or else visiting with Barbara or Sister Mary-Cynthia. Perhaps she too had felt how quiet the room they shared had become when one was alone and had sought the light and laughter of companionship elsewhere. Patsy would simply have to do as she had always done and take care of herself tonight. As she closed the door the carefully neutral expression she had cultivated for the last several hours relaxed involuntarily into something that more accurately reflected her feelings and her shoulders, held stiff for so long, finally slumped under the weight of all that had happened. In the morning she would have to speak to Sister Julienne and start making arrangements, but not yet. For these few brief hours of darkness she could stop being the person the world needed her to be and allow herself to just be sad.

Patsy felt slow and clumsy as she prepared for bed, every movement physically painful as if it were _her_ that had been hit. Her fingers fumbled and tugged over the buttons of her coat and laces of her shoes until she despaired of ever being free of them. Now she had allowed the shock to catch up with her, her hands were trembling so badly they were almost unusable. A hysterical laugh that was almost a sob wrenched its way from her chest as she imagined herself sleeping fully dressed in her outdoor things because she, the nimble fingered nurse who had been set as an example to her classmates in training, had been defeated by her own coat fastenings. It was ludicrous.

At last though she managed to work loose the final clasp and pulled on the pyjamas that were still folded beneath her pillow, feeling almost pathetically grateful that most of her things were still here. It gave her an excuse to be back in her old room rather than at the flat if anyone asked, and it would be easier to do what was needed tomorrow if their home was not yet completely theirs.

Once she was changed Patsy sat down on her bed, holding in her lap the brown paper parcel she had been given at the hospital. When she'd first come in she'd tucked the package under her bed, but somehow she had found herself unable to leave it there and it lay in her lap like a coiled snake; dormant for now but full of the potential for pain. This innocuous little bundle contained the last things Delia had touched before she had forgotten who Patsy was. Opening it would do no good. It was like worrying a toothache with your tongue though you knew it would make the pain worse. She ought to put the parcel away again, she could deal with it when she sorted out the rest of Delia's things. There was no need to look now, while she was still feeling so emotional.  
But already the fingers that had struggled and tugged so uselessly at her laces only moments ago had worked the knots free and unwound the string that held the brown paper together. All she had to do was push aside the wrappings.

And there it all was. Several buttons were missing from Delia's coat and the shoes were badly scuffed, as though they belonged to a careless school child who dragged their feet along the road as they walked. For a single, delirious moment Patsy wanted to go and fetch the tin of shoe polish and a needle and thread and set to mending Delia's things at once, as if sewing up a torn seam and cleaning a pair of shoes would somehow mend the damage that had been done to her brain at the same time. Instead she hung Delia's coat in the wardrobe beside her own and place the shoes neatly side by side beneath it. She would have to take them down again tomorrow but it was not in her nature to leave things untidy.

It was only when this was done that she realised Delia's uniform was missing. Had they had to cut it off her? Was it so blood stained and damaged that they had thought it best to simply throw it away? ...Or had they taken it back? Technically it was hospital property and of course Delia would be unable to work there again for some time, if ever. It was sensible enough, but somehow the idea that someone had decided that Delia would not get better and return to work upset her far more than the image of a dress too covered in blood to be wearable. It meant that whoever had made the decision had given up hope.

No. Patsy could not allow that to be true. To distract herself she picked up the small paper bag that had been on top of the clothes in the parcel. There wasn't much inside. Delia's purse, a slightly dented tin of mint Nipits, a watch with a scratch across the glass face. The hands were not moving and Patsy remembered their conversation of the morning. Water had got inside the watch while they were cleaning and the time was now stuck permanently at 9.13. For a few seconds Patsy closed her eyes, wishing she could go back to the moment it stopped and realise that they needed to leave so that Delia would have time to walk safely to work. If only she could.

There was not much left in the bag now. She tipped the remainder onto her palm... and froze. She should have expected it, but she hadn't and the sight arrested her completely. Nestled in a pool of its own chain amidst a detritus of hair pins and earrings lay the ring she had given Delia not three weeks ago, glittering softly in the dim lamp light. Patsy found herself unable to look away from it as the memories of that evening washed over her. After the night Delia had told her she wanted to get married 'more than anything' she had thought hard about ways she could make Delia see how much she meant to her.

She had bought the ring, though she had travelled to a shop right at the other end of London where no one would recognise her to to do so. She had made up a story for the amiable young lady behind the counter about her brother's soon-to-be fiancée and they had shared friendly smirks and talked about how utterly hopeless men were with choosing jewellery. The girl had told stories about men's ring buying disasters and said that if it was down to them women would all end up with scrap iron or tin foil on their fingers instead of lovely rings like the one Patsy had picked out. They agreed that Patsy's brother and indeed his fiancée ('Norma') were lucky to have her to help. In fact it had been so easy that Patsy wondered why she hadn't done it sooner, though her heart had pounded hard right up until she turned the corner from the shop, as if at any moment someone might realise what she was really up to and try to stop her.

She had not made a big show of proposing – great shows of sentiment were never really her style, but she had taken Delia quietly aside after the children's lantern parade and told her with heartfelt sincerity that they would not live as they had before. After that she had led her away from the crowds to somewhere they could be alone. She had given Delia the ring and with it promised her that whatever it took she would find a way for them to be together, starting right that moment. She had given Delia a chain to thread the ring onto, knowing she could hardly wear it as what it was. But for that one evening, while they were alone, she had slipped it onto Delia's ring finger and felt just for a few, glorious moments, like any other sweetheart who had just had their proposal accepted.

With an effort, Patsy tore herself away from the memory of taking Delia in her arms as they both gazed at the ring on her finger gleaming softly in the low, flickering light of their still-burning lanterns. She closed her fingers around the ring, feeling the links of the chain dig into her palm as she squeezed it tight for a moment before dropping it into her pyjama pocket and climbing quickly under the covers. She knew she should wrap it up and put it away safely in the drawer, but this at least she could keep close to her, and no one would ever know. All day she had been keeping her thoughts in check, refusing to allow memories of Delia to cause a crack in her facade of control, but seeing the ring had broken down her defences and even as she pushed aside the memory of proposing as too painful to be born, a thousand other Delia memories were emerging unprompted from the recesses of her mind.

Patsy left the lamp beside her bed burning in the futile hope that looking at the familiar props of her life apart from Delia would help drown out the scenes that jostled for her attention as she lay alone in her narrow convent bed, but it was no use. Wherever she looked, all she saw was Delia.

Delia laughing so hard that tears rolled down her cheeks at the pictures.

Delia taking her hand and calling her a dark horse.

Delia over by that very dresser, pouring bourbon and exchanging secret smiles with her as they eyed each other in their square dance outfits.

Delia describing how wonderful their new home would be with her expression so filled with hope and excitement it made Patsy's heart ache to watch.

And then... Delia looking lost and hurt in the hospital. Delia asking her if they were friends. Delia pulling her hand away from Patsy's. Even after Patsy finally fell into a restless sleep, the flood of imaginings that had stalked her conscious mind tangled into disturbed dreams of Delia lying in the road, broken and alone as cars sped around her and Patsy looked on from the pavement; desperate to run to her but unable to move so much as a little finger or even draw breath to scream for help as the appallingly bright red blood ran down Delia's deathly pale skin.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok I PROMISE this story gets less angsty, please stick with it. This chapter isn't totally angst free... but it is going to start improving pretty soon. Not quite yet, but soon!

Just for a moment, before she opened her eyes, Patsy had felt an intense relief on waking. A dream. The image of Delia lying bleeding in the road had been nothing more than a terrible dream, and now it was over. She had reached out sleepily for the reassuring warmth of Delia's presence beside her, wondering if it was still early enough for them to cuddle and talk for a while before they had to get up for work. But instead of warm skin and the soft cotton of Delia's pyjamas her hand found only the edge of a single bed and the bitter chill of an early November morning beyond. No Delia.

With that the events of the day before came crashing back with such force that for a moment she forgot how to breath, as though her own memories were a physical weight pressing the oxygen from her lungs. Patsy opened her eyes and sat up so suddenly that the bedsprings jangled beneath her in protest, afraid that if she lay still another second the pressure would become so intense she would be unable to move at all.

It was early. The room was almost completely dark and Trixie, who must have returned some time after Patsy fell asleep, was curled in a ball under her covers, her back to Patsy but clearly still deeply asleep. The dim glow of the street lights outside provided just enough light for Patsy to see that the clock said it was a little after 4.30 in the morning. The nuns would be up then, preparing for chapel or there already, but everyone else would still be in bed at this time, unless any of them were unlucky enough to have a late delivery. Patsy knew she ought to go back to sleep. It had been a long day yesterday and undoubtedly it would be an even longer one today, but the idea of returning to the dream she had left with such relief was too horrible to contemplate. Instead of lying back down she gathered her things as quietly as she could and tiptoed from the room to get dressed in the bathroom, where a light would not disturb her sleeping room mate.

For the next two hours, Patsy sat alone in the dim, early morning stillness of the parlour and tried to come up with a plan. The money was easy. Her father had set up an account in her name when she was still at school and paid into it faithfully every month even now. It was guilt money she knew and up to now she had never touched it. It was a matter of pride to take nothing from the father who had sent her off to live a harsh, even cruel life at a tough catholic boarding school when she had come home traumatised from the camp, grieving and in desperate need of a parent. But she would not let Delia suffer for the sake of her stubborn pride, and this money would allow them both to live in modest comfort for the foreseeable future. Besides, not using the money had become more a habit than anything. She had no desire to live extravagantly and had liked living off her own wages, but she was no longer really angry with her father. He had done the best he could at the time, and whatever it might have meant for her, she could ask no more of him than that.

The main difficulty was this place. Nonnatus House had become more home to Patsy than anywhere she had lived in her life and the idea of leaving altogether repelled her. But the more she thought about it, the more it seemed unfair to do as she had told the hospital Matron and take a leave of absence. How could she put a time limit on Delia's recovery? And if Delia didn't recover, how could she ask Sister Julienne to wait for her indefinitely, knowing they needed all the help they could get?

By the time the first sleepy stirrings of the other nurses could be heard above her, Patsy was ready. Hurriedly she signed the letter she had been writing, blowing on the ink to dry it as she made her way to Sister Julienne's office. Her heart was hammering with nerves but she wanted to do this now, before people started coming down for breakfast. If she got entangled in speaking to her friends she might be persuaded out of what she knew needed to be done.

As it was, she met no one but Sister Monica Joan as she made her way to the office. The nun had something hidden under her habit which Patsy strongly suspected to be the pound cake Sister Evangelina had been given yesterday and was saving for tea that afternoon. For a moment the two of them eyed each other warily, each wondering if the other would comment on their shifty demeanour, or the items both were so obviously trying to conceal. After another few seconds of silence they seemed to reach the same conclusion at once and, ignoring anything amiss, exchanged friendly 'good morning's before hurrying away in opposite directions. Patsy felt a little guilty for allowing the cake to disappear without challenge, undoubtedly never to be seen again, but she comforted herself with a promise to buy Sister Evangelina another and turned her attention to the office door in front of her.

Sister Julienne greeted her with a warm smile as she opened the door, looking genuinely delighted as she ushered Patsy inside and offered her a chair.

'Nurse Mount! I'm glad to see you, I was meaning to find you before breakfast and see how you were doing. Please, do sit down. What can I do for you?'

The warmth in the older woman's voice made it harder still for Patsy to say the words she had been rehearsing in her head, but it was no use. She could not change her mind.

'I'm afraid I'm here to hand in my resignation, Sister Julienne'.

'Your resignation? My dear, please, lets talk about this! It's only two weeks since you were telling me you were as happy here as you had ever been in your life. What has made you change your mind so drastically?'

Sister Julienne lowered herself into her chair as she spoke, as though the shock of Patsy's words had taken all the strength from her and her expression was filled with concern and a touch of alarm.

'I am happy here Sister, truly, I have found a home at Nonnatus House the likes of which I have rarely known in my life. I would love to return one day, should you be willing to take me back when the time comes. But right now I have other responsibilities that I cannot ignore, and that has to take priority. It would be unfair of me to take leave without knowing how long my absence will continue, and after giving it some thought it seemed best that I make it official now and give you an opportunity to find a permanent replacement'.

'This seems very sudden Nurse Mount. I imagined you here to ask for a few days leave to recover yourself and was perfectly happy to grant it, but your resignation. I never imagined... May I take it that the responsibilities you speak of relate to the accident your friend Nurse Busby was involved in yesterday?'

'Yes. The hospital have agreed that since neither of Delia's parents can be reached and in the absence of any other blood relations, I may act as her next of kin. I spoke to the Matron about it at some length yesterday and she agreed that when Delia's physical condition allowed, she might be released into my care. There is no guarantee as to how her recovery will progress, and at present she is having frequent seizures and remembers nothing of her past. Delia will need full time care for the foreseeable future, which certainly won't allow me time to continue working here. I hope this will be temporary, but I have to plan for the possibility it will be permanent. I hope you understand'.

Sister Julienne was quiet for a long time, turning the envelope Patsy had given her over and over between work roughened fingers, her expression thoughtful. It was so long before she said anything in fact that Patsy began to wonder if she was being silently dismissed. Had she offended the Sister terribly? She supposed leaving like this might seem ungrateful after all the support Nonnatus House had given her throughout her training. Patsy was beginning to feel truly wretched and wondered if she ought to just apologise and leave, certain now that Sister Julienne would not speak to her again. Eventually though the nun gave a small sigh and returned her gaze to the young woman across the desk from her

'Well, I can see that you are quite determined, but really Nurse Mount, are you sure you're doing the right thing?'

'I am as sure of this as I have ever been about anything Sister'.

'Please don't mistake me. I don't mean to patronize or second guess you, and if you are quite certain you can be sure of our support in whatever way we can give it. I'm just afraid that the shock of this accident might be influencing your decision. It is obvious you care very deeply for Nurse Busby, and I understand the compulsion to help a friend is a strong one. But what you're proposing is giving up your entire career, your independence, for the sake of a work friend. We all have cases that touch us very deeply, but there comes a point where we must step back and acknowledge that we cannot do everything ourselves. The Lord sends trials to all of us Nurse Mount, and sometimes what they teach us is to accept our own limitations, and to trust in Him to do that which we cannot do ourselves. No doubt you would take excellent care of Miss Busby, but think of the difference you make in Poplar with your work. It would be a terrible blow to the community and to us here if you decided to leave. There are a lot of people who need you Nurse'.

Her words could have been a rebuke, but they were delivered with such gentle compassion that Patsy knew they were meant only as kindness and concern for her own welfare. Far from encouraging her to reconsider, they strengthened her conviction that she was doing the right thing. This was not a 'case' that had touched her deeply. This was Delia.

'I love being a midwife, and I don't wish to let anyone down, least of all my patients. But Delia Busby is not just a work friend... The fact of the matter is Sister, since I started my training she and I have become very close. Neither one of us had much family to return home to and we became family to each other, just as everyone here at Nonnatus has become my family. The difference is, Delia has no one else. While I can be certain that in my absence the mothers of Poplar will still be cared for, I know that without me Delia would have no one'.

Patsy paused for a moment, uncertain whether or not she should continue. But after all, this was important and she was not saying it for sympathy. Sister Julienne had been wonderful since she had started at Nonnatus House and as hard as talking about her past was, she felt the kindly nun had earned at least as much of the truth as Patsy was able to reveal to her.

'I watched my sister die in a Japanese Internment camp when I was ten. I could do nothing to save her, and in that place there was very little I could do to ease her last days. I lost both her and my mother that year and at the time I thought there was nothing left for me. But I'm sure you of all people know that family isn't only about blood and in recent years Delia has become as much my family as ever my sister Grace was. Matron explained to me that in the absence of anyone to care for Delia she would be transferred to a psychiatric care facility, possibly permanently. I can't let that happen Sister, not when I am able to look after her myself. I would have done anything for Grace, and I will do the same now for Delia. I'm sorry to let you down this way, but I have to do this'.

Sister Julienne's expression had softened as Patsy spoke of her family, and by the time she was finished, the doubtful look was entirely gone from the older woman's face.

'No, please don't apologise Nurse. I didn't understand quite what this meant to you before, but now I believe I do. You must do as you feel called to do and after what you have said, I do not believe your decision to care for Delia is a wrong one. But I hope you will still consider yourself to be a part of Nonnatus House, just as we will still consider you to be one of us. I dare say Nurse Busby will be house bound for a time, but you would both be very welcome visitors here when your schedule allows it, and I hope you might permit us to come and see you in your flat in the meantime. You have many friends here and we would hate to think of this as goodbye. When will you be leaving us?'

Patsy hadn't realised until that moment that she had been holding her breath. Now she let it out in a long, slow sigh of relief. Most of the journey was still ahead of her, but somehow receiving Sister Julienne's acceptance made her feel as though at least part of the weight she carried had been lifted from her shoulders, and she felt more in control of things as she replied:

'At once I'm afraid. I have a lot to do to prepare the flat for an invalid before Delia comes home, and I would like to spend some time reading about her condition and talking things over with Doctor Turner, as well as the Doctor taking Delia's case at the hospital'.

'Very well. We will tell everyone about your decision over lunch today. No doubt you would like to tell Trixie and perhaps Barbara yourself, but I would appreciate it if you asked them not to say anything to anyone else. It would be best for everyone if the news didn't spread as rumour and I would like to take some time to think things over before dealing with the inevitable questions from Nurse Crane and Sister Evangelina'.

'Of course Sister. And... Thank you. I know I am rather leaving you all in the lurch with such a sudden departure. I truly appreciate how supportive you're being'.

'Don't think on it Nurse Mount, you are our family and we only want what is best for you. We will support you in your journey wherever it takes you, just as we do Chummy or our own dear Shelagh. You may be leaving Nonnatus House, but it does not mean you will lose your place in our hearts, or your welcome at our hearth. Now, I am sure there is much you wish to do this morning, so I'll let you go. But please don't hesitate to come to me should you need any help, whether it is practical or personal. And of course, you would be very welcome to join us in chapel, should you wish to do so'.

'Thank you Sister, I'll remember that'.

As they stood Sister Julienne reached out to pull Patsy into an embrace. For the space of two or three heartbeats she stood still, surprised by the warmth and familiarity of the gesture; but after a moment Patsy returned the nun's hug with sincere gratitude. She might be leaving, but she still had a family here.

It felt strange leaving the office. She had resigned, and for the first time since she finished school she was officially no longer a nurse. For years now she had been 'Nurse Mount', it was an identity she was comfortable with, and a shield she had so often hidden behind when things were difficult. Now she was just Patsy, and she wasn't sure how 'just Patsy' would cope.


	6. Chapter 6

Over the next week Patsy settled into a routine of research, hospital visits, and cleaning that filled her days with at least the illusion of progress, and for the most part life was bearable. It was only when she lay down to sleep at night that she couldn't distract herself from the fact that the flat was much emptier than it should have been, and for the first time in her life she found herself avoiding going to bed. As often as not she would doze off slumped uncomfortably in the arm chair she'd bought for the living room, only to wake cold and stiff in the small hours of the morning. It wasn't just her worries about Delia's recovery that made her reluctant to sleep though: since the accident she had not made it through a single night without nightmares that left her heart pounding with fear, or her cheeks wet with tears. Most were about Delia, but the old nightmares she had suffered so badly from in the early days after the war had returned too, and sometimes Patsy would wake up in a cold sweat, afraid for a few moments that she would open her eyes to the filthy hut she had lived in at the camp and the sound of her sister's laboured wheezing through the darkness beside her. Or worse still, the terrible silent stillness that had filled her ears when Grace's breaths had finally stopped.

As it was, Patsy did her best to replace sleep with coffee, and would get up long before the sun rose every day to sit out the silent predawn morning when most of London was asleep; smoking and reading as many journal articles and case histories as she had been able to beg or borrow on the subject of amnesia. Although she had been diligent enough in her studies as she trained to be a nurse and then a midwife it had always been something of an after thought – a necessary accompaniment to her time on the wards and little more. Now she read voraciously, battling her way through the cramped lettering of dusty medical journals for even the meanest scraps of information that might have a chance of helping them. She worked until the weak November sunshine grew bright enough that she no longer needed the electric light to make out the words on the page in front of her, and then deemed that it was no longer unsociably early and she might make her way to the hospital without being considered strange.

Patsy spent every minute she could at the hospital. During visiting hours of course she never left Delia's side – answering the same frightened questions she had been asked the previous day and trying to come up with ways to keep someone with poor short term memory entertained. Even after the matron had been round to give her the 'time to go' look however, it was often several hours before she actually left the hospital entirely. For as much of the morning as they would tolerate her, Patsy could be found in discussion with the specialist doctors who had assessed Delia and the nurses who were taking charge of her care, or else raiding the archives she had been given permission to look through for more information on amnesia. It was only her long-standing reputation for thoroughness in her work that kept her detailed attention from seeming odd to those around her; but after all she had always been determined and willing to go the extra mile for her patients. The story of her journey to Liverpool to collect medication for Mr Glennon was an oft-cited example of her slightly eccentric commitment to her patients, but also a testament to its perspicacity and success. In fact, the hospital staff began to view Patsy as more of a respected and well informed colleague than a visiting relative, and once or twice she had been asked by one of the nurses for an opinion on another case of concussion or acute seizures.

In spite of her growing reputation as an expert on head trauma among her old colleagues, the reality was that Patsy had very little expectation of learning anything of much practical value from her research. In fact, almost everything she read confirmed that there was little to do at this point but wait and see if the brain would heal itself. It was just that as long as she kept busy and had at least the illusion of progress, she was able to cope with the fact that Delia still had to be reminded of who she was every time she arrived for a visit.

Even when she left the hospital, Patsy could not allow herself so much as a moment's idleness into which thoughts of all she had lost might insinuate themselves. Instead she kept the grief away by turning the intensity of her focus towards the flat, first scrubbing every inch of it twice over until it was probably cleaner than it had ever been before, then shopping for furnishings. Some days she would walk miles and spend hours searching for the perfect curtain fabric, only to come home empty handed because every time she almost settled on something she couldn't help thinking that it wasn't the one _Delia_ would have picked. She had bought the tins of yellow paint for the living room on the very first day, but as time passed she kept finding reasons to put off using it. The room was still too dusty. Then when she had cleaned it to almost clinical perfection, the weather was too damp and would make the paint bubble. The excuses she gave herself became more and more implausible until eventually she had to confess that it was simply too painful. With that admission Patsy put the tins away under the sink in the kitchen. She would wait until Delia could have an equal say before she began decorating properly. It was her home too, and maybe it would be good for her to have a project to think about while she was house bound. Although she knew she was still just making excuses, it was a relief not to be looking at the tins anymore.

Eight days after her resignation from Nonnatus House Patsy decided the time had come to do the one task she had been putting off most fiercely. With Fred's help, she was going to transfer Delia's belongings from the Nurses' Home to their flat.  
It would be the first time she had been in Delia's room since the accident and there was a part of Patsy that couldn't help feeling that if she didn't go in, the memories held within those walls would remain untainted by the tragedy of reality. If she left the room undisturbed it could stay a haven of normality where at any minute the stillness might be broken by the laughter and activity of its owner coming home from an evening at the pictures, or getting ready for a shift, or just sitting on her bed reading a novel. But the Nurses' Home needed the room, and now the flat was clean and at least sparsely furnished, there was no real excuse for her not to go.

The day Patsy had designated for the move dawned cloudy and cold with a fine mist of rain in the air that clung to her coat and hair in small droplets and made everything look blurred at the edges, like a smudged chalk picture. By the time she arrived at her old dwelling every layer of clothing felt damp, and Patsy wondered briefly whether it was foolish of her to have declined Fred's offer of a lift to the Home and help with boxing things up. At the time she had refused point blank, hardly caring that to do so might make her appear rude, and they had agreed instead that Fred would meet her here in a couple of hours to drive the boxes back to the flat, and that was all. But in spite of her clammy shirt and damp brogues, the idea of well meaning Fred bumbling around and breaking the stillness of Delia's room with his brash good cheer was too much to bear even now, and after a momentary doubt Patsy was glad she had come alone.

As she stepped through the door to the Nurses' Home, Patsy felt a strange sense of deja vu. Nothing seemed to have changed here. She might be a student again, newly arrived in London and knowing little of nursing but what she had learned from books and remembered from the war. As she traced the familiar route up the stairs Patsy found herself filled with an irrational sense of hope. As if somehow, in spite of all the evidence of her senses over the past week, she might find Delia here, as unchanged as the décor. Her hope reached an unbearable peak as she stood outside the door to Delia's room, swelling in her chest as if it meant to burst right out of her. Although she knew it was impossible and frankly ridiculous to expect a miracle, it wasn't until two unfamiliar girls clattered past her heading for the kitchen that she was able to break the spell that held her transfixed. Whatever the similarities, this was not her home and never would be again. No matter how long she stood here, Delia would still be in the hospital and not behind this door. At last, Patsy worked up the nerve to turn the handle.

And there it all was, exactly as she'd pictured it. Even while physically absent, Delia's presence here was so strong it made her knees tremble, and Patsy had to shut the door behind her quickly, afraid that if she did not someone might see the expression on her face as she looked around. Everything about this room suggested that its occupant was expecting to come back. There was a book on the bed with a marker placed a little over halfway though. An open paper bag of pear drops sat beside Delia's make-up collection on the dresser. A dress with a dropped hem lay over the back of a chair, the fabric already pinned back in place but still waiting for a needle and thread to finish the job. It felt like returning to one's childhood bedroom after years of absence – everything was as she remembered, and yet it could never be as it once was because the girl who had made it that way was gone.

All the time she was folding clothes into cases and carefully wrapping trinkets with newspaper, Patsy had to remind herself that Delia was alive and would soon be back in possession of her treasures. This wasn't goodbye. Even so, it felt as though she were dismantling the remnants of a lost life that, no matter how carefully she placed the pieces, could never be put back the same way again. In just a couple of hours the room that was the scene of some of her happiest memories had been transformed from a much loved sanctuary into a small, plain and slightly shabby place, as impersonal as any hospital ward but for the faint lingering scent of Delia's perfume in the air. Soon, she knew, even that would be gone.

She felt a sudden overwhelming urge to lie down on the bed, the way she had that night (was it really only weeks ago?) she had come to Delia after the Bissette baby was born. She was so tired. Maybe here she would be able to forget the real world for a while and pretend that Delia was just inches behind her, ready to hold her and offer solace for a sorrow she would not have if her imaginings were true. Maybe here she could sleep without dreams.

But Fred had arrived almost ten minutes ago and was patiently waiting in his van outside the Nurses' Home, she couldn't just leave him out there when he was doing her such a big favour.

So instead of lying down she lingered for just a moment more, taking Delia's pillow from the bed and holding it to her cheek as she hugged it tight in her arms. For the foreseeable future this was the closest she could come to holding Delia. It made her chest ache and her eyes prickle, but for a few moments she felt less desperately lonely. Then she imagined how she must look from the outside. A grown woman standing in a room bare of anything but packing cases, hugging a pillow that, after all, belonged to the Nurses' Home and not Delia at all. She had just been one in a long line of nurses to sleep in this bed and one of several to use this pillow. She put it back down, feeling a little shocked at how sentimental she was being. This wasn't like her. She was practical. A great show of sentiment and emotion did no one any good, it was time to stop being self indulgent and get on with what needed to be done. With that Patsy picked up the first of the cases and headed downstairs to tell Fred she was ready to start loading the van.

A small crowd began to gather on the steps of the Nurses' Home as the two of them made their way up to Delia's room and down again with boxes and cases, although no one offered to help them. Fred tipped his cap at the watching nurses and made polite comments about the weather as he passed, but for Patsy it was as though there was an invisible barrier of grief that separated her from the women she had lived and worked with for so many years. None of them approached her while she and Fred worked, and in her turn she felt unable to so much as meet anyone's eye, as though somehow it was _her_ fault that Delia was being taken from them. And perhaps it was. After all, Delia had been leaving the Nurses' Home to live with _her_. It had been _her_ bike, and _her_ idea that Delia should ride it.

No. Patsy dismissed that line of thought quickly. It was useless to assign blame where nothing could be done about it. She might as well blame Delia's parents for not teaching her to ride a bike in the first place, or the teenaged boy whose car had hit her and who had been left so traumatised he wouldn't even get on a bus anymore, let alone behind the wheel. It didn't matter whose fault it had been, she decided. What mattered was what happened now, and if these women thought it a better use of their time to stand around and stare at Patsy rather than actually being there for Delia then so be it.

It wasn't until Patsy had placed the last box and was getting ready to pull herself up into the passenger seat of the van that she heard a shout behind her.

'Patsy! Wait a minute!'

She paused, one foot already on the ledge. A tall woman with dark blonde curls and just a bit too much lipstick was running towards her.

'I just... I just wanted to say. Well, all of us do, that we're so sorry for what's happened. Delia was a very good friend. We'll miss her and... we're glad she has you. Would you tell her that we're all thinking of her?'

'Why not tell her yourself Joan? Delia's not dead and I'm sure she'd appreciate a visit. She needs all the friends she can get right now'.

Joan looked away, clearly uncomfortable.

'I did try... but she doesn't know who I am or where she is and it's so hard to talk to her like that. I don't know what to say. She was my first friend here, I can't bear to see her this way. It just makes me too sad'.

Patsy felt an unexpectedly intense flash of anger at the explanation and for a moment thought she might shout at Joan. Of course it was hard. Did she think it didn't break _Patsy's_ heart every time Delia greeted her as 'Nurse' and had to be reminded that they were friends? Or that the sight of her dearest friend in the midst of a seizure that left her with blood-flecked lips where she had bitten her tongue didn't make her want to scream? But you didn't abandon your friends when it was difficult, you fought for them all the harder. She turned away from the blonde woman for a moment, trying hard to regain her composure. She might have given a curt response and climbed into the cab without another glance at Joan, but as she turned she caught sight of the rest of them watching them anxiously from the steps. Two girls had tears on their cheeks. Another looked as though she was at risk of biting right through her lip.

As quickly as it had come all Patsy's rage drained away. They might not be visiting Delia, but these people really did care about her. She sighed and turned to face the other girl properly.

'Of course I'll tell her Joan. Maybe you could visit when she's home from the hospital. You'd all be welcome and it might be easier all round once Delia's a bit more settled. Or even just send a card? I'm sure she'd like to know there are people thinking of her and having things written down will help her remember them'.

Joan startled Patsy by throwing her arms around her in a hug 'thanks hen, I'll do that. We all will. And... Patsy, if there's anything _you_ need, you will let us know won't you? I want to help if I can, and I know the others do too'.

'I... I will. Thank you'.

Patsy was so unused to such spontaneous overtures of friendship that she wasn't sure what to say after that. She did have friends of her own among the London nurses, but Joan had always been someone she only really knew through Delia. For a few moments the two girls stood smiling awkwardly at each other beside the van, both unsure how to end the conversation until Fred tooted the horn and leaned across the seat to call out:

'We best be getting on now Nurse Mount, or I won't have time to drop you at the hospital on my way to Nonnatus. Sister Evangelina won't be too pleased if I'm late, not when the boiler's on the blink again'.

'Of course, sorry Fred! Thank you again Joan, I'll let Delia know what you've said'.

On the third try the van revved into life and Fred gave a small woop of delight.

'There she goes! Just gotter know how to treat her right Nurse Mount, she's still got life in er yet no matter what the good Curate says!'

Patsy agreed cheerfully, though she couldn't help turning to smile into her hand against the window as she did so. Fred acted as though his van was a family member, refusing to see any flaws even when it leaked oil or juddered alarmingly. Only last week poor Tom had emerged looking pale and queasy after a particularly eventful journey and announced that the van was fit only for the scrap yard. Fred has pretended not to mind, but he was now even more voluble when extolling the virtues of his 'old girl', and when Tom was around he had taken to patting its bonnet as if comforting it after a great insult.

But in spite of the alarming rattling noises and occasional unpleasant smells coming from under the bonnet, Fred and Patsy arrived at the flat without incident. For the first time she saw the door to her home as if through someone else's eyes. She had given the door and the step a good scrub, but although no longer dirty, the paint was faded and peeling and the whole thing gave off an air of dilapidation.

'I know it needs a coat of paint. The inside does too... but I'm waiting for Delia. It's her home as well and she should get a say on colour schemes'.

Fred looked at her as though she had said something much more important than an apologetic comment about the shabbiness of her home.

'Of course Nurse Mount. Don't worry, she's going to love it. It'll be home because it's where her family is, not because of the colour of the door'.

Patsy smiled gratefully, hoping very much that Fred was right.

'A cup of tea might be in order I think. And I made some scones as a sort of thank you for your help today. I thought you and Mrs Buckle might enjoy them, but I could get a couple out now if you're peckish?'

...

Once everything had been deposited at the foot of what was to be Delia's bed, Fred sat on the slightly threadbare sofa Patsy had found at the flea market, sipping tea and making appreciative noises over the fresh buttered scones. The flat was small enough that they could continue a conversation without raising their voices, even when Patsy excused herself to get changed for her visit to the hospital. She felt a little silly for doing it but she always took particular care over her appearance when she was due to see Delia, as if the way she looked would be important to a girl who had lost even her own identity.

'I reckon your Miss Busby is very lucky to have a friend like you Nurse Mount. I can't fink of many people who would do half as much'.

'I'm just fortunate enough to have the resources available to be able to do it. I'm sure most people would do the same for their friends if they could. And... Fred, you needn't keep calling me Nurse Mount. I resigned from Nonnatus House, I'm not a nurse anymore. You can call me Patsy'.

'Meaning no disrespect, I got to disagree wiv you. You might not be at Nonnatus but you are as much a nurse as any of them that are. You've earned the title of Nurse and I for one won't forget that just because you aren't wearing a uniform'.

Patsy paused, the mascara wand dangerously close to poking her in the eye as she stopped moving it over her lashes. She had thought only in terms of absolutes since this happened... or maybe even before this had happened. Now she thought about it, she had always felt as though she had to choose between being a nurse and being Delia's Patsy. Delia had been afraid that if she were ever forced to turn her back on one to keep the other that Patsy wouldn't choose her. If she was honest Patsy hadn't really been sure herself. But when it came to it there had been no question which identity she would choose: when Delia needed her she had been ready to cut herself off completely from the nursing identity that had consumed her since childhood for the sake of the woman she loved.

But after all, Fred was right. Why should leaving Nonnatus House to care for Delia mean she was no longer a nurse? She had the training and she would be using it. She remembered the time she had taken a spare cap for Gillian, Mr Glennon's young daughter, to make her feel as though she were more than a helpless bystander to her father's care. Gillian Glennon might not have had the formal title or training, but during her father's illness she had certainly been a nurse to him.

If she hadn't been in front of the mirror when it happened, Patsy would hardly have believed the expression on her face was real. But it was. She was standing in the bedroom she would soon share with Delia and grinning at her own reflection as the thought took full form in her mind. She could still be a nurse. And what was more, she could be a nurse _and_ wear slacks.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Since this is a relatively short transition chapter I thought I'd give it to you early. I think there's been enough waiting for their actual lives together to get started, so this is the last of the 'Delia in hospital' chapters :)

_Delia sighed and gazed restlessly around her bedroom, as if it might reveal something new this time if she only looked hard enough. She wasn't sure how long she had been here - even the hours seemed to blur into an uncertain haze in her mind, let alone the days; but she was reasonably certain that it had been some considerable time since she had been out of this bed. She knew now that she had been in an accident and that the injury had caused her to lose her memory, but in spite of the confusion, and the fits that still gripped her once or twice a day, she was well enough for her main feeling to be one of almost overwhelming boredom. She tried to make it into an (albeit extremely dull) sort of game – seeing how long she could resist the urge to glance at the clock on the wall, but that didn't really work because as often as not by the time she looked she couldn't remember what time it had been in the first place. Mostly she just stared at the jug of chrysanthemums on her bedside table and wondered who had brought them for her. Sometimes, when the morning light gilded their petals, Delia thought she almost knew the answer... but if she ever did remember it slipped away again like a dream on waking and the flowers were nothing more than flowers once more. Once or twice she got so desperate for something to do she tried counting the petals, but it turned out that chrysanthemums had far more than one might imagine, and she had reached 657 without being close to finishing the first bloom before she'd lost her place and given up.  
_

_Suddenly a knock at the door broke through her stupor and Delia gave an excited little jump, followed almost immediately by a wince of pain as her sore ribs protested. She vaguely remembered nurses coming in to check on her, but they never knocked, just swept in and carried out their routine without meeting her eye, as if they were afraid of what they might see there. This was something different._

_'Come in!'_

_The door opened to reveal a pretty red headed woman carrying a paper bag under one arm and smiling at her warmly._

_'Good morning Delia! How are you today?'_

_'I'm well, thank you'._

_The blandly polite response was out of her mouth before she could stop to consider the truth of it, or whether this person was someone to whom she should give a more honest answer. There was something very familiar about this girl. Delia glanced at the chrysanthemums again and thought perhaps she had her answer as to their origin... but still she couldn't bring to mind the girl's name, or how they knew each other beyond the fact that she was fairly certain this wasn't the first time she had visited._

_'You've come to see me before, haven't you? Are you one of the nurses? Or... or are we friends? I'm sure I know you from somewhere'._

_'You remembered! Yes, I've been before. I come to see you every day actually. My name's Patsy, and we're very good friends'._

_Delia felt the tight knot of tension that seemed to have taken up permanent residence in her stomach ease just the slightest bit at that. Not knowing who she was or what her life was like was terrifying and lonely, but at least now she knew there was someone in it who knew her, and who cared enough to keep visiting in spite of her inability to remember her from one day to the next. Maybe she would be able to explain things at last._

_'We are? I'm so glad! Do you think you could tell me what happened? How long have I been here? Do I have to stay? Can you tell me what my life's like outside this place? Do I have other visitors I don't remember too, or are you the only one?'_

_She had a dozen more questions she wanted to ask but managed to bite off the stream of words before they all came flooding out. She had no way of knowing how well she knew Patsy, and although she had said they were 'very good friends' it still hardly seemed fair to bombard her this way the moment she walked through the door. The last thing she wanted to do was scare off the only person (as far as she could remember, which admittedly wasn't far) that didn't look at her with unveiled disappointment when she admitted that no, she didn't remember yet._

_'I'm sorry, that was probably rude wasn't it? It just gets so dull here all by myself with nothing to do but wonder and speculate, and when my mind is so fuzzy I worry that if I don't say things right away I'll forget them, and then I'll never know the answers... except I've probably already heard them all a dozen times and it doesn't do any good because I'm afraid I've forgotten... again'._

_She glanced up at Patsy's face, hardly daring to meet her eyes in case she had been wrong and she was just as disappointed in her as the nurses that clearly thought she wasn't trying hard enough. She knew it wasn't really her fault, but she still couldn't help feeling slightly ashamed at her inability to remember. But instead Patsy gave her a sympathetic smile and moved as though she were about to take Delia's hand, before thinking better of it and running her fingers idly along the edge of the padded railings that had been fixed to her bed._

_'That's quite alright, you needn't be sorry. I'm happy to answer your questions, and it doesn't matter that I've told you before. I'll tell you as often as you need. Actually, I brought something for you to help with that. There's something important I need to tell you, and I'd like you to be able to remember and think about it when I'm not here so you can be certain it's what you want'._

_With that she reached under her chair to retrieve something from her paper bag and held it up for Delia to see._

_'It's a diary. I thought you could write down anything you want to remember in it, or any questions you think of when I'm not around. That way you'll have something to refer back to when you want to know things, and I can try and answer the questions next time I see you. I've already written out a few pages with a bit of information on who you are and your life and friends, and what happened to you. There's a bit about me too, with a photo so you'll recognise the person it's talking about. I thought it might help you feel more in control'._

_'Oh Patsy! This is the kindest thing anyone has ever- I mean. This is very,_ **very** _kind of you. Thank you so much'._

_'You're welcome darl- Delia. I'm just sorry I didn't think of it sooner! Do you want to read it now?'_

_Delia gazed at the book. It was tempting. In there were the answers to some of the questions that worried at her mind like an incessant itch until she felt half mad with it... but there would be time enough for that when she was alone again. She wasn't certain, but she thought she didn't have company much and while it lasted she wanted to make the most of it._

_'No. Not just now... maybe we could talk instead? You said you had something important to tell me?'_

_'Yes. I've been speaking to your doctors and they're happy with how you're recovering. I don't suppose it feels that way to you, but your short term memory really is much better than it was right after the accident, the seizures seem to be becoming less and less frequent and your other injuries are healing nicely. They want you to stay a couple more days while they reduce your dose of sedative in case coming off it causes a bad reaction, but after that they say you can go home!'_

_At first, all Delia felt was elation. She could go home! The long, dull hospital stay was almost over and in just a couple of days she would be back... back... where? Her heart seemed to drop into her stomach as she realised how impossible it was. How could she go home? She didn't even know where she lived, let alone how she was supposed to support herself. They'd told her she was a nurse, but how could she be a nurse now?_ _The only memories she had were a scant handful of disconnected childhood moments, there was no way she could care for patients._ _They must_ _**know** _ _she couldn't look after for herself. Would they turn her out on the street? Or would home mean some sort of institution with strict rules and a dozen other inmates and more nurses that would give her food and shelter and medication, but at the cost of independence and familiarity?_

_She looked back at Patsy, expecting her to have the same anxious frown at the thought of how Delia would cope alone, but she was grinning as though she expected her to be nothing but thrilled. After a moments silence the smile began to fade and was replaced by a new emotion. Was it... hurt? Surely that didn't make sense?_

_'Don't you want to go home Delia? I know it'll be a big change, but I thought you'd be keen to get out of this hospital bed, you're always saying how bored you are and how you hate that they put the railing up to stop you getting up... I... I thought you'd be pleased. There are other options if you don't want to though. The matron has found a place you could take at St Margaret's. It's a residential home for people with brain injuries... you could stay there until you recover if you'd prefer. I can bring you pictures, and find some information about the staff and the routines and everything, if that's what you want. It's entirely up to you'._

_'I would be pleased... I mean, I_ **am** _pleased. And I definitely don't want to go on to some other institution. I do want to go home more than anything, except getting my memories back. It's just... well, I'm still having seizures. And, to be honest I don't know where I live. I'm just not sure how I'll manage I suppose. I wonder... I hate to ask, but I wonder if you might keep visiting me sometimes when I'm home, just in case I fall and hit my head during a fit, or forget how to use a stove... I do want to go home, but I'm afraid to be alone'._

_At that Patsy's smile returned, and it was like the sun breaking through a bank of clouds._

_'Oh Delia, you misunderstand! I meant you're coming home with_ _**me.** _ _I should have explained properly. Just before your accident we'd moved into a flat together. When you're discharged from the hospital that's where we'll go. And you needn't worry about coping on your own. I'm going to look after you, it's all arranged. As long as you have no objection to my caring for you of course'._

_'You truly mean it? I can come home with you?'_

_'Of course! I'd hardly leave you to fend for yourself, and it will be nice to have you back. The flat is small, but I still feel at a bit of a loss rattling round in it all by myself. It'll be nice to have your company again. I should warn you though, it's not very pretty yet. We had only just taken the lease when your accident happened so although I've cleaned and got a few bits of furniture, I haven't had time to do much proper decorating. But we'll get it looking lovely in no time, and at least this way you can choose colour schemes and things. I hope you won't be disappointed'._

_This time it was Delia who reached for Patsy's hand._

_'I won't care if we go home to a cardboard box, none of that matters. Just to have a home, and a friend... I can't tell you how grateful I am to you. Thank you so much, for everything. I'm so glad you're here Pats'._

_She thought she saw a slight glimmer of tears in her friend's eyes as she returned Delia's hand squeeze, but then she blinked and it was gone. Perhaps she had just imagined it._

_After all, why would Patsy be sad? She had said she_ wanted _Delia to come home._

_Home._

_They were going_ **home.**


	8. Chapter 8

_Delia Busby was proud to say that she knew things. Not as many things as other people perhaps, but she felt sure that the things she_ **did** _know, she knew all the better for the fact that they were so few. Some of them were big, important things she had been told and had (with some effort) managed to keep fixed in her mind. She was a nurse. She had almost died in a cycling accident. She had amnesia. Everything would be alright - they promised._

_But as far as Delia was concerned, the big things were not the most important, because she hadn't figured them out by herself. The real victories were the little glimpses she was beginning to get of the things Delia-Before had known._

_She knew her twelve times tables. She knew how to fold a cloth into a nurse's cap, a swan, or a boat (she had been practising with her handkerchief). She knew the entirety of 'The Three Foxes' by A.A. Milne... although she had discovered it was almost impossible to recite it without clasping her hands in front of her, which she could only assume was a recital pose that had been drummed into her by some long forgotten school mistress._

_The day the poem had first come back to her she had been so excited she had immediately recited it for Patsy, who had applauded and seemed delighted by the recollection. After that it had become a memory game between them. Each day Patsy would bring a new poem and Delia would try to learn it by heart before her next visit. It was a small thing, but it gave her something productive to do during the long, lonely hours of bed rest between Patsy's visits._

_Patsy. That was the other thing she knew now. When Patsy arrived for a visit she could greet her by name. She knew they were friends. She knew they had once worked together, before Patsy became a midwife. She knew who brought the fresh flowers that were always on her bedside table, and she knew that Patsy always laughed when she unconsciously assumed her stiff recital pose. Mostly she tried to remember to keep her arms by her sides to avoid the gentle teasing, but every now and then she would do it deliberately, because she liked it when Patsy laughed. It made her whole face light up and her eyes crinkle at the corners, and sometimes Delia would be so busy looking that she would forget the next line of the poem._

_But today was different. She hadn't responded as well as they'd hoped to reducing her medication, so although the decreased drowsiness meant her short term memory was improving beyond expectations, her seizures had seemed to get worse for a while. The original date they had given her for discharge had come and gone while they experimented with dosage and monitored her fits, but at long last, almost a week after Patsy had first given her the book, Delia was going home.  
_

_And so, instead of lying in bed going over the words to 'You are old, Father William' or (now she was growing more confident) some sonnet of Shakespeare's, Delia was sitting in the chair Patsy usually occupied for visits, wearing the neatly pressed dress, stockings, cardigan and brogues her friend had brought in for her and clutching the memory book she had not let out of her sight since receiving it. She was nervous in spite of her desire to leave the hospital. When the nurse had brought the stack of clothes this morning and offered to help her dress, Delia had been dismayed to find she_ needed _help. She didn't know exactly how long she had been lying there, but when she tried to stand her legs had buckled and her head spun alarmingly. It was frightening to feel so weak. What would she do if Patsy was expecting her to walk home? What if she didn't want her to come back at all once she realised how much trouble Delia was going to be before she'd even made it outside?_

_In the end though she needn't have worried. After giving Delia a hug in greeting and telling her how good it was to see her up and dressed, Patsy had helped her into a wheelchair to take her from her bedroom to the front entrance of the hospital. She seemed to know without Delia saying a word that the journey would be a little overwhelming after so long by herself and pushed her slowly; keeping up a light hearted conversation to give her something familiar to focus on amidst all the new stimuli._

_'We were supposed to be getting a lift from Tom - he's the local curate, but apparently one of his parishioners is suffering a crisis only he could attend to, so Nurse Crane has stepped in to fill the breach. Nurse Crane is one of the midwives I used to work with at Nonnatus House. She can be a little intimidating at first, but then they tell me so can I, so I can hardly pass judgement on that! Besides, she has a heart of gold underneath it all. Just be sure to tell her 'good morning' rather than 'hello' when you meet and you'll be instantly in her good books!'_

_Delia laughed then, forgetting to feel overwhelmed by the bustling corridors she was being taken through._

_'Really? What does she have against hello?'_

_'Oh she says it isn't a proper greeting and that in her day it would have been considered terribly bad form. Although you're not in uniform so you'd probably get away with it'._

_'I'll bear that in mind! Is she awfully stern?'_

_'We all thought so when we first met her, but now I'm not so sure she is, really. She certainly likes things to be just so, but she's very gentle with people when they're upset. Or, I dare say, when they are being discharged from the hospital after amnesia-inducing head trauma'._

_'That's alright then. And what about you? Do people really find_ you _intimidating too, or was that a joke? You seem too kind'._

_'Oh yes, nobody dares to disobey Nurse Mount! I'm quite the force to be reckoned with I assure you'._

_'I don't believe you! You're a complete angel, admit it'._

_'Maybe you just happen to know how to get round me, everyone else finds my presence utterly terrifying. Here we are. We'll have to leave the wheelchair now, but if you take my arm I'll keep you steady as we go. Nurse Crane said she'd pull up as close to the entrance as she could so there shouldn't be far to walk'._

_Delia nodded, though she still didn't believe for a moment that people were scared of Patsy - she was too gentle and considerate for her to imagine how anyone could find her intimidating. But if Patsy had been trying to distract her it had worked. Her knees were no longer trembling beneath her, and as they pushed open the front door Delia was_ almost _able to convince herself that she was not in the least afraid of whatever came next, even if her white-knuckled grip on Patsy's sleeve told a different story._

_The wind slapped her in the face the moment they stepped outside, flecks of icy rain stinging her cheeks like grains of sand; but Delia found she hardly cared. After all this time, she was_ outside. _She wanted to throw back her head and dance across the wet cobbles, delighting in the elements she had so long been cut off from; but her legs still felt weak enough that if she let go of Patsy and tried to act on her whim she knew she would probably end up in a soggy heap on the floor. So instead she contented herself with taking deep lungfuls of smoggy London air which nevertheless tasted sweet after breathing in nothing but the scent of bleach and illness for so long. She was almost glad the day was so uninspiringly overcast, or she might have found herself refusing to go inside again at all. As it was she was already beginning to shiver, so although she still wanted to savour the moment of her release; the sight of a middle aged woman with tight brown curls opening her car door to wave them over was a welcome one._

_'Good morning ladies! Sorry to keep you waiting, I had a little trouble finding a place to park'._

_Delia silently noted the 'good morning' and smiled to herself as the woman turned her gaze from Patsy onto her._

_'We have met before, but since this is the first time for you we might as well make introductions properly. My name is Phyllis Crane. I am delighted to re-make your acquaintance Miss Busby'._

_'Good morning Nurse Crane, I'm very pleased to meet you. Thank you ever so much for coming to get me like this, it's terribly kind of you'._

_They shook hands solemnly and then Nurse Crane returned to business._

_'Right then, that's the niceties out the way. Lets get you inside before you catch your death of cold. Nurse Mount, I know you've got legs longer than Beethoven's Ninth, but since Miss Busby is still a bit unsteady on her pins I think it would be best if you try and fold yourself into the back so she doesn't have to climb over. Miss Busby, if you're feeling faint you can hold onto my arm while Nurse Mount gets herself settled'._

_The car ride passed swiftly for Delia as she stared out at the rain-swept streets, trying to guess which ones Delia-Before had walked down every day. Did she go to that cafe to drink tea after work? Had she ever bought apples from that green grocer? Would that person recognise her if they passed each other in the street? Or that one?Any of the myriad people she saw hurrying by could have been important to her and she had no way of knowing. Eventually the sight of so much that should have been familiar but wasn't made her woozy and she closed her eyes for the last few minutes of the car ride, allowing the small talk of her fellow passengers to wash over her as she tried to picture what home would be like. Patsy had warned her that the flat was small and undecorated, but even if they arrived at the shabbiest, most cramped little hovel in all of London, she felt sure that she would prefer it to her hospital room. And maybe the fact that they hadn't fully settled in yet before the accident would be good. She could make it her own home, rather than trying to fit yet another part that had already been written for her._

_She was so busy trying to picture what her home would be like that it took a moment for her to realise the engine was no longer running and Patsy was asking politely whether Nurse Crane would like to come in for a cup of tea, or whether she could offer her any money for the petrol._

_'No thank you Nurse Mount. I'm sure you'd prefer to get yourselves settled without me getting in the way, and I've clinic to prepare for this afternoon besides. As to the money, I'd rather you girls kept it. No doubt it'll come in handy for something or other along the way'._

_After thanking Nurse Crane profusely and waving her off with instructions to pass on her fondest regards to everyone at Nonnatus House, Patsy unlocked the front door and led the way into their home. By now Delia was feeling confident enough in her ability to stand upright unaided that Patsy left her to explore the flat while she went to make them both a cup of tea, though she carried on talking to her from the kitchen as she did so._

_'There's a hat stand by the door where you can hang your coat. Give me a tick and I'll put the heater on for you. I'd have left it on to get the place warm before you got here, but it's a bit temperamental and I thought it best not to risk coming home to a heap of ash'._

_Delia was used to Patsy keeping up a steady stream of chatter to help her stay grounded when things became overwhelming - it was a technique she had developed in the hospital when Delia had begun to panic and usually it worked wonders. This time was different though, and she was hardly listening as Patsy continued to talk about the weather and the biscuits she'd bought. Instead she was gazing at her surroundings with a mixture of relief, gratitude and, she admitted silently to herself, a little sadness. A part of her had held onto the hope that when she saw somewhere that ought to have been entirely familiar her memories of it would slip back into place; but she might never have been here at all for all she recognised of it._

_The flat was very clean, but as Patsy had warned her there was not much in the room beyond a small folding table with two straight-backed chairs against the wall, a two seater sofa, and an arm chair of the sort that could be made to recline by pulling a handle at the side. The only decoration this room offered was a braided rug on the floor and two framed photographs, propped on the table beside a stack of papers and a wireless. Delia wandered closer to get a better look at the pictures. One of them was a group shot taken on the steps of a large house– from the fact that they were all dressed either in identical dresses and cardigans or full nuns' habits she deduced that these must be Patsy's old colleagues from... what had she called it? Nartus House? She tried to read the bronze plaque by the door for further clues, but the photograph wasn't clear enough to make out the words so she returned to inspecting the people instead._

_There was Patsy, looking smart and pretty in her uniform and smiling out at the camera with her arm around the glamorous blonde nurse beside her. After a moment or two of searching she managed to pick out Nurse Crane as well, standing off to one side and frowning slightly at the only other person who was wearing the nurses' uniform instead of a nun's habit. The girl's cheeks were flushed and her hair was just the slightest bit unkempt, as though she had come running down the steps to join the picture just moments before it was taken. Delia wondered if that was why Nurse Crane was frowning at her and smiled slightly, imagining the scene. Did she know these people? Was the blonde one Patsy's particular friend? They certainly seemed to be laughing together about something. What about the dark one? Was she often late, as it seemed she might have been here? Was she as kind as Delia thought she must be from her expression? Were they all_ her _friends too, or would they be one day? She hoped so. They looked nice._

_The other photograph was smaller than the first, so that Delia had almost missed it behind the high stack of folders until she moved closer to the table. It had been taken in summer, the sunshine lighting up the faces of the two girls it showed almost as brightly as their smiles. Delia stroked the glass that covered their faces with a gentle forefinger, wondering if she had ever been as happy as these two seemed to be the moment that photograph was taken.  
The taller girl was Patsy. She looked younger, less worried than she did now, but Delia was certain that by now she could pick Patsy's face out from a crowd of thousands, so although she had never seen her friend look so carefree, she couldn't mistake her. She wasn't sure about the other girl though. Her hair was as dark as the young nurse from the first picture, but she was smaller, and beyond their colouring they didn't really look alike at all. She and Patsy were standing arm in arm, but although it was much the same pose as she had adopted with the blonde nurse, it looked different here somehow, as if there was a closeness between these two that went beyond simple friendship. She wondered then if it might be Patsy's sister, and tried to recall whether she had ever mentioned one._

_Just then Patsy herself returned, balancing a tray laden with a teapot, two cups and a plate of bourbon biscuits. Delia turned to smile at her, still holding the smaller photograph in one hand._

_'I'm afraid you've caught me nosing about! I was just admiring your pictures. It was ever so interesting to see all the people you worked with, but I think I like this one best. You both look so happy, like everything in the world is completely perfect. Is she your sister?'_

_At the expression that came over Patsy's face then, Delia was certain she had just said something terrible. For a moment Patsy stood frozen, the things on the tray sliding precariously close to the edge as her grip slackened in shock. Just when Delia was certain the whole lot would go crashing to the floor and was preparing to attempt to dive across the room and catch it, Patsy gave herself a little shake and righted it, coming to place the tray on the table beside her. If she hadn't seen it for herself, Delia would never believe her friend had been so alarmed only moments ago, because by the time she set down the tea things, her calm, reassuring expression was back in place and her answer, when it came, was gentle and even._

_'That's a picture from our trip to the beach last July. The girl with me isn't my sister... Deels, that's a picture of you'._

_The sound of glass breaking was the first she knew of having dropped the photograph._

_Immediately Delia was horrified, trying to pick up the broken shards and apologise to Patsy all at once, but she found her hands were shaking so badly that when she did manage to pick a piece up, she dropped it again almost at once, sending even more fragments flying across the floor. She was about to try again, but Patsy didn't let her. Before she had fully acknowledged that she was crying, there were arms around her and she was being held in a tight embrace while Patsy stroked her hair and told her it was alright. She felt her friend guiding her gently over to sit on the sofa, although even once they were sitting down she didn't let go of Delia for a moment, just held her close while she cried and shook._

_Eventually the intensity of her sobs ebbed and Delia's main feeling changed slowly from one of shock and terror to a vague sense of humiliation at having started her new life with such an outburst. When at last her breathing eased into snuffles, Patsy paused the gentle movement of her hand rubbing slow circles over Delia's back and murmured:_

_'Better now?'_

_Although she was no longer crying, Delia couldn't quite bring herself to raise her head from the damp patch she had wept into Patsy's jumper to answer, so when she spoke her voice came out small and slightly muffled, as though she were a child hiding under the covers._

_'Yes...I'm sorry about the photo'._

_'It doesn't matter, it was only the frame anyway. I'll fetch the dust pan in a moment and no one need ever be any the wiser'._

_'It was just such a shock. I never thought that I might not recognise_ myself. _I can't tell you how strange that feels'._

_'I know darling. I probably should have found a better way to tell you. It's not as though there were a great many mirrors in the hospital for you to get used to your reflection, so I suppose I should have anticipated this. I never thought of putting a picture of_ you _into your memory book. I'm sorry. I'm afraid this might be a bit of a learning curve for both of us. But it will get easier, I promise'._

_At that Delia did sit up, indignant on her friend's behalf._

_'Oh Pats, it isn't your fault! There's no way you could have known. I just... I never thought of the fact that I don't know what I look like. It was the shock of realising that more than anything. And now I know, I can't_ **un** _know, if you see what I mean. Do you have a mirror? I'd like to see properly, so this doesn't happen again'._

_'Of course'._

_Instead of the make-up compact, or even small handheld mirror Delia had been expecting, Patsy returned from the bedroom a moment later, struggling slightly as she manoeuvred a wall-mirror large enough to show one's entire head and upper body onto the windowsill before turning to offer Delia her hand._

_'Are you ready?'_

_For a moment Delia wasn't sure. How would it feel to look in the mirror and not recognise the person looking back at her? What if she started crying again? But then:_

_'Yes. The sooner I do it, the sooner it'll start to feel normal'._

_She accepted the offered hand, using it to pull herself to her feet. Since leaving the hospital she had been upright enough that she was no longer really at risk of toppling over, but even when she was standing she found herself unwilling to let go of the hand she was holding, and Patsy did not try to withdraw it from her. She seemed to know that Delia needed something familiar to hold onto and was offering to be that for her, even if she_ was _gripping so tightly she was leaving marks on Patsy's skin._

_Together, they stepped in front of the mirror. For a brief, fear-fuelled moment Delia let her eyes hover on Patsy's reflection, meeting the now-familiar gaze of her friend in the glass instead of confronting her own. But Patsy gave her hand a gentle squeeze and flashed her an encouraging smile that reminded her that she didn't have to do this alone. And at last, Delia looked._

_The girl looking back at her was small and pale, making the almost faded bruises stand out lividly on her skin. She looked almost nothing like the bright, smiling woman in the picture she had dropped. The eyes that had sparkled then were now red-rimmed and puffy from crying, the features drawn into a tight pinch of anxiety. Her hair was as dark and thick as it had been in the photograph, but it hung limply around her face and Delia tried to remember when she had last been able to wash it. She felt suddenly self-conscious, knowing how unkempt she must have looked to Patsy throughout all those visits at the hospital, when Patsy herself was always so nicely turned out. She wanted to stop, but she forced herself to keep looking into her own face until she was reasonably sure that she would know it again, and then she turned away._

_She felt she should have something meaningful to say about it all, but instead all that came out of her mouth was:_

_'I'd really like to wash my hair, if I can. It feels like forever since I've been allowed to have a proper wash instead of bed baths. I've been dreaming of getting to bathe my own self with no one watching for... I don't even know how long. Ever since I arrived at the hospital I suppose'._

_Patsy was smiling at her as she answered, but she looked troubled all the same._

_'The bathroom was one of the reasons we were so excited about this flat – it's only small, but even so, we do have our own indoor bathroom. But... it only has a bath tub, there's no shower'._

_Delia couldn't work out why Patsy looked so worried. Had she had something against baths before? She felt no particular aversion to them now, and she tried to reassure her._

_'That's alright, I'd prefer a bath anyway. It'll be nice to have a good soak!'_

_'Yes... but... the thing is Deels... I'm not supposed to leave you alone, at least not for a while. If you had a seizure while you were in the bath you could go under and drown. I have to stay close enough that I can keep talking to you, and hear if anything happens so that I can get your head above water before you breath it in'._

_'Oh... Right. Well, I suppose that's for the best, but I'm sorry you'll have to supervise me like a child. It doesn't seem fair on you'._

_'Oh Delia, don't worry about_ that _, I'm perfectly happy to sit with you, I'm just sorry you can't have the privacy you wanted. I'll keep my back turned of course, but I know it's hardly the same as getting to be alone'._

_Delia did her best to fight down the feeling of abnormality that came with this reminder of one more thing she couldn't do for herself and smiled bravely at Patsy._

_'I dare say I've been alone enough these last couple of weeks anyway. Maybe we could use bath time as a chance to carry on our poetry game. After all, I'm supposed to keep talking to you so you know I've not slipped under... And you know, I think I might just be ready to have another go at Shakespeare. So what do you say - shall I compare thee to a summer's day, Pats?'._


	9. Chapter 9

'Knock knock, nurse calling!'

Patsy was beginning preparations for lunch in their tiny kitchen when she heard the call from the front door. She had been dreading the visit from the district nurse and had had to resist the urge to put on her old uniform beforehand to make the point that she was at least as qualified as the person sent here to judge her. She knew it wasn't the nurse's fault, but even so she didn't want anyone, however well meaning, coming in and telling her how to care for Delia; or writing up reports on her as if the situation somehow brought her competence into doubt. But this voice wasn't the professional, friendly-yet-impersonal tones of someone who had half a dozen visits to make before lunch, this was-

' _Trixie!'_

She abandoned the carrots she had been scrubbing and rushed to the door, drying her hands on her slacks as she went.

 _'_ It really _is_ you! Matron told me she'd have a district nurse coming over to keep an eye on things, but I never imagined it would be someone from Nonnatus. It's so good to see you! Let me make you some tea. I know you probably need to hurry but I'd love to hear how everyone is, if you have the time'.

She and Trixie gave each other a tight hug in greeting, in a way that would once have felt too personal for either of them, but now seemed entirely natural.

'Patsy! You're looking well. A little tired perhaps, but I'm hardly one to talk - I almost need a porter to carry the bags under my eyes after being on call last night. And I needn't hurry too much. I saved this visit for last so I've nothing to be late for but lunch and I'm sure Sister Julienne will be forgiving under the circumstances. Actually, I think if I dare to go back without a proper amount of news about you I shall make myself most unpopular. We've all been squabbling terribly over who got to be the one on district this week. I practically had to fight Barbara _and_ Sister Winifred for the privilege. Even Sister Monica Joan said she was feeling up to active service again, if only for this one visit. We all miss you darling'.

'I miss all of you too. And it still feels ever so strange to be able to go to bed at night without expecting to find myself cycling off to a delivery call at three in the morning'.

'Do you regret giving it up?'

'Of course not. I miss delivering babies, but I'm still nursing here at home. I'm not sorry I chose Delia'.

'Speaking of Delia, it is technically her I'm supposed to be here to check on. Where is she?'

Trixie looked around the little living room. She knew Delia was supposed to be mostly on bed rest, but she thought that after how bored Patsy had said she'd been in the hospital she'd at least be ensconced in the specially purchased reclining armchair Patsy had found for her, if not actually up and about.

'In bed. She had a seizure earlier this morning. It was just a small one, but they leave her exhausted so she's sleeping it off. I'll try to wake her enough to let her know you're here and see if she's up to answering questions, but if you don't mind, maybe we could have our tea first? I'd rather let her sleep if she can. I wasn't planning to wake her until lunch was ready'.

Trixie silently noted the way Patsy's whole demeanour changed when she talked of Delia. It always had of course, but now the familiar softening of Patsy's hard edges when she spoke the name was combined with a tightness – a pain and anxiety that had never been there before. She wanted to reach out and give her friend's hand a squeeze, but she didn't feel quite secure enough in their new closeness to make so bold a move this early in the conversation, so instead she made a show of taking off her coat and rolling up her cardigan sleeves.

'Oh well, in that case lead the way. I'll help'.

'Oh Trixie don't be daft. You've been working all morning, you can't possibly want to peel potatoes'.

But Trixie was already striding ahead of her towards the kitchen, leaving Patsy with little choice but to trot obediently at her heels.

Although they were washing and chopping vegetables rather than rolling bandages and sterilising instruments, Patsy felt almost as though she were back at clinic as she worked side by side with Trixie. They chatted companionably about Nonnatus House and all that had been happening since Patsy's departure. As she had expected, Barbara now slept in the room she and Trixie used to share, and although it was strange to know they were all moving on without her, Patsy was glad. She hadn't liked to think of Trixie all alone, somehow. As strong and independent as she was, she felt her friend needed someone to be there with her. And of course, it would be a big step up for Barbara not to have to share with Nurse Crane, who marked out their bedside territory with precisely measured tape and gave lectures on the proper way to hang clothes in the wardrobe.

'Babs is quite the dream to board with. She doesn't snore, she sleeps like the dead so I never have to race her for the bathroom in the morning, and she doesn't roll her eyes or mime being trapped at the bottom of a well when I play Billy Fury records'.

'That was once!'

'It was every time and you know it. I don't know how Delia puts up with someone so intolerant of such truly great music'.

They had been laughing, teasing each other back and forth as they talked, but at the mention of Delia's name Patsy glanced over her shoulder in the direction of the bedroom, suddenly worried that she wouldn't have heard over their chattering if Delia called for her.

With both doors open she could see Delia's bed from where she stood and it took only seconds to confirm that she was still there, fast asleep in almost exactly the same position she had been in for the last two hours. Patsy felt a little silly then. She knew she was treating Delia the way first time parents often treated their newborns – as though she were something so fragile she might shatter at the merest breath of wind, but she couldn't help it. She had been home less than 48 hours, they were still working out how to interact with each other in this new version of their friendship. It was bound to take some time.

She returned her gaze to the potatoes she had been mashing, only to find Trixie staring at her with an expression she couldn't quite identify. She tried to remember what they had been saying, to resume the conversation as though nothing had happened, but before she could find the words Trixie spoke into the sudden silence her distraction had created.

'Patsy, can I ask you something?'

'Of course'.

Trixie would not meet Patsy's eyes as she spoke, staring into the mug of tea she was holding as though she might find secrets written in its steam. She hadn't been planning to ask, but the words had come out without her meaning them to, and now there was nothing for it but to plough on and hope for the best. She sighed. How did other girls _do_ this? Even now she had to resist the urge to back pedal and ask Patsy whether she thought purple lipstick could ever be acceptable, or something equally frivolous. Instead she took a deep breath and spoke the words she had been holding onto since long before her friend had left Nonnatus House.

'It's about... you and Delia. You've given up everything for her, and as much as you say she's like family to you, I can't quite believe that's all there is to it. I've been trying not to think it, I know it's not really my business. But... look, I wouldn't dream of saying anything to anyone else obviously, but... well... before all this happened, you were a couple weren't you?'

Patsy almost knocked the pan of potatoes onto the floor, catching it only just in time as her hand jerked in shock. Whatever she had been expecting Trixie to ask, it hadn't been that.

She knew she should laugh and treat the suggestion as preposterous. She should make some joke. Or sound angry. Horrified. Disgusted. Anything, _anything_ that would divert suspicion and keep Delia safe. She couldn't allow this to ruin Delia's life when she didn't even remember what she'd done. It wasn't fair... But she could trust Trixie couldn't she? They were good friends, and she had likened people telling Mr Amos who he could and couldn't love to fascism. Surely the same principle would apply now?

She opened her mouth to reply, still not entirely sure whether it would be an admission or denial when she did but knowing the silence had already gone on too long.

'I- I-'

But Trixie stopped her with a slight shake of her head.

'You don't need to say anything. Your look of abject terror is answer enough'.

This time it was Patsy that couldn't meet her friend's gaze. She had failed. She stared miserably at the half-mashed potatoes and tried hard not to let the burning sensation that had started to build behind her eyes develop into tears. She didn't think Trixie would tell the hospital that Delia should be removed from her care, but the idea that she might lose their friendship over this was sickening. And if Trixie could see it, did that mean everyone could? She thought she had always been so careful. How did Trixie know? When eventually she managed to speak, she could barely hear her own whispered voice past the pounding of blood in her ears.

'Do you hate me?'

'Hate you? Oh Patsy, of _course_ I don't hate you. I don't have a problem with people who are that way, you _know_ that. I'm just trying to understand why you'd put yourself through this. You're pretty and alright, perhaps a _tad_ intimidating to men, but even so you could find yourself a chap in a heartbeat and put all this behind you. I just hate to see you suffering like this. Why live with all this pain when you don't have to? It's very noble of you to be so loyal to Delia, but she doesn't remember, it's not like you can really be together now. If you just gave men a try, then maybe...?'

Patsy carefully put down the pan and manoeuvred herself in the tiny space to lean against the only bit of wall that wasn't taken up by cabinets or shelves. She wanted to sit down, but there was no space for a proper table and chairs in here, so she made do with what support the wall could offer and did her best to keep her knees from trembling as she searched for the words to express her deepest secret out loud.

'It's just not that easy. I'm not staying with Delia out of a sense of duty. I know we can't be together the way we used to be, but I can't force my feelings not to exist because it's more convenient, and I certainly can't just replace her as though she's a broken table lamp. Believe or not, I _have_ tried men. I had boyfriends when I was younger, but though I tried to be attracted to them it didn't take me long to realise that I would rather be alone than continue with the charade I was living when I was with them. I decided after that I'd just stay single and devote myself to my work. It seemed better that way. But... then I met Delia. It wasn't something I was looking for - I tried hard _not_ to have those feelings for her but I couldn't help it. I fell for her and by some miracle she fell for me too, and I couldn't change that even if I wanted to. But Trixie, I _don't_ want to. Even now, after everything that's happened I wouldn't change a second of the time we've had together. This is every bit as real for me as Tom was for you, or Doctor Turner is for Shelagh. I don't expect you to understand, but I would have married Delia if I could. As it is, I won't leave her. If she needs full time care all her life and never really knows who I am then so be it, I'll be here, because even that is better than living in a world where I have left her behind when she needed me. I'm not naïve, I know this injury means that one day Delia might well find someone else, or just move out and live a new life that doesn't have me in it. If that happens then I won't hold her back, and on that day I will start trying to move on. But I won't be the one to leave her. Not ever. I love her Trixie. I really, truly do. So yes, it might be simpler to find myself a man, but living without Delia could _never_ be easier'.

By the time she had finished, her heart was pounding so hard against her ribs that it hurt, but Patsy was returning Trixie's gaze squarely, and Trixie was not backing away from her, or looking disgusted, or slipping back behind the impenetrable mask she wore for strangers, or any of the other myriad bad responses she had feared. In fact, it was almost as though she had _not_ just admitted to the sort of thing that could get a person sacked on the spot and shunned by everyone who had formerly been a friend. If anything, Trixie looked chagrined, as if _she_ and not Patsy were the one who had something to feel bad about.

'Goodness Patsy, I never realised you were such a romantic at heart! I can't pretend to fully understand... but it's not for the reasons you think. I loved Tom. A part of me will probably always love Tom, but when I had to choose, I couldn't give everything up for him the way you have for Delia. I don't think I've ever had a love like that, so it's hard for me to fully understand it. But I do know that if anyone were as devoted to me as you clearly are to Delia, I wouldn't easily forget them. Feelings that strong can't be hidden forever, even by brain injury... I'm sorry I said you should move on. And I'm sorry I've let you go this long feeling as though I might hate you if you told me. I feel like I've failed you as a friend knowing you've thought that of me all this time'.

'Please don't think that. It wasn't personal. It just isn't something one can talk about, not to anyone. And if I _had_ ever been inclined to confess, the business with Mr Amos reminded me not to. It's just too dangerous'.

'If I'm honest, I suspected about you even then. I didn't understand how much it would have meant to you both for me to show more support instead of worrying about the impact on the blasted Rose Queen. I suppose I was too wrapped up in proving to Tom that I could be the perfect clergyman's wife to _try_ to understand. It was easier to just decide it was none of my business and pretend it wasn't happening. I shouldn't have done that. I'm so sorry Patsy'.

'It's alright. I imagine I'd have denied it as hard as I could if you had said anything back then anyway. Until something so much worse happened, I was far too afraid of discovery to admit anything even to my best friend. But things are different now, and it means so much to hear you say this'.

It was strange. They had never opened up to each other this way before and Patsy kept expecting the other shoe to drop – surely having her biggest secret exposed after so long working to hide it should have bigger consequences? Shouldn't it feel wrong to be speaking so openly to someone with whom she usually went no deeper than discussing difficult work cases with? Would things be more serious and strained between them after this?

But Trixie's look of earnest, heartfelt compassion was already regaining a twinkle of it's usual easy humour as she bent to take the chicken portions out the oven.

'To be honest, as much as I struggle to understand how you can fail to see the appeal in _meltingly_ attractive men like Rock Hudson, this is actually much easier for me to come to terms with than Cynthia becoming a nun. I'm sure the Lord has his place, and I love Cynth- _Sister Mary-_ Cynthia, but how one could give up all earthly pleasures in exchange for hymn books and habits I still cannot fathom. I was half afraid you were thinking of going the same way at the time, when you told me that having a boyfriend wasn't the be all and end all. In a way I'm actually quite relieved. At least I know that I'm not going to have to start minding my language around you and waving you off to bed by nine'.

'I certainly hope not! I love the Nonnatuns, but even were I of a religious inclination, I could _never_ be a nun. I'd be bored out of my mind spending every leisure moment doing Good Works. And for that matter I don't think there is a nun alive who could look at a banana coronet and see stone henge made of penises'.

It wasn't _that_ funny, but both Trixie and Patsy burst out laughing at the memory, both happy that they had managed to talk about something so potentially earth shattering and remain unharmed by it.

'If they did I don't suppose they'd ever admit it! Do you remember Sister Winifred's _face_ when you said that? The poor girl didn't know where to look! So, now we've established that convent life most definitely isn't for you whatever your other inclinations... does that mean you'll still come dancing with me? And make irreverent comments about Billy Fury?'

'Of course! This doesn't change anything, I'm still the same person... But I thought you didn't like my remarks about the great Mr Fury?'

'Well, if you repeat this I will insist it must be some stress-induced delusion you're having... but actually I rather miss it. Barbara's polite interest in him makes listening to his records somewhat less enjoyable than it was when I was defending him from your scorn'.

'I see. Well, in that case let us never speak of this conversation again, I would hate for anyone outside these walls to discover your secret. But whilst we're off the record, please rest assured I will continue to mock him at every given opportunity'.

'That's alright then'.

Patsy shared a smile with her friend, feeling more grateful for who Trixie was than she would ever be able or willing to express.

And then Trixie looked away to take a sip of tea and everything was back to normal, as though the conversation had never happened. They returned to talking of small things as they finished dishing up lunch and Patsy put both plates into the oven to keep warm while they went to wake Delia.


	10. Chapter 10

_It was three days before Delia gathered her courage to start looking through the things that had once been hers. Patsy had been doing her best to make her feel at ease as they played games and read and ate together, but somehow she still felt more like a guest than an actual resident here. Perhaps it was because the doctors' prescription of bed rest meant that Patsy wasn't allowing her to do any of the house work; or that, since everything around her had been selected and purchased by Patsy, it felt like she had no real right to it. Whatever the reason, she still paused in doorways to rooms Patsy was in, afraid of disturbing whatever she was in the middle of, and although she_ had _fetched herself drinks and even snacks once or twice, it didn't feel right using the milk (_ Patsy's _milk) or taking too many biscuits from the tin._

_But the things on her side of the bedroom... well they were_ hers _weren't they? Even if it didn't feel that way, there was no one else who would come and claim them, and maybe something there would help trigger memories. Patsy would_ WANT _her to look._

_Even so, Delia waited until her friend was safely occupied in the kitchen before she approached the boxes. She felt strangely guilty about her curiosity, as if Patsy might think she was violating the privacy of the best friend she'd lost by going through them. It was ridiculous of course, Patsy had never treated her like an imposter... but all the same she felt like one, and closed the bedroom door carefully before kneeling to examine Delia-Before's possessions._

_Actually, it was a little disappointing. It seemed Delia-Before wasn't much of a hoarder, and most of the things she came across were practical and unrevealing. There were the clothes of course – dresses and blouses and matching cardigans in a rainbow of bright colours that made her think of fields of wild flowers and dancing butterflies. She wasn't quite sure where that image came from when the only scenes she could remember seeing first hand were wintry London cityscapes, but all the same, she liked the colours. She knew Delia-Before had... no, she knew_ SHE _had grown up in rural Wales, so perhaps dressing so brightly had been her way of bringing some of the countryside colour to liven up the drab greys and browns of London. Some of it seemed a little garish now after seeing nothing but the muted tones of the hospital uniforms and the inside of this flat with its dingy, unpainted walls for so long, but she supposed in time she would grow back into the bright colours. She hoped so._

_Then there were a few ornaments, still carefully wrapped with newspaper from the move. A little cut crystal vase (looking strangely bare without flowers in it); a rather clumsy pottery dog statuette with a drippy looking yellowish brown glaze but a very friendly look on its face (a child's gift perhaps?); a nurse figurine in a voluminous blue skirt and white pinafore that she supposed must have been a good luck gift when she started her nursing training. They were nice enough and Delia spent a few moments arranging them on her bedside table and dresser, but they evoked no chime of familiarity when she looked at them. They were just things._

_Next out of the box came various cosmetics and hair products; which she was glad to find as she was beginning to feel fed up with looking like an unkempt invalid, and a couple of bottles of perfume. One looked entirely untouched, and when she sprayed it Delia thought she knew why – it was a sickly sweet scent that reminded her of gently rotting roses, with a vaguely chemically tang that suggested it was a very cheap scent indeed. That_ had _to have been a mistaken purchase, or else an ill chosen gift from someone who knew nothing of women's tastes. Whatever she thought of Delia-Before, she couldn't believe anyone had such awful taste as to think_ that _scent was a good idea. The other, much emptier bottle contained something subtle and slightly spicy that for some reason put her in mind of night time and stars and whirling around on fairground rides. She sprayed a little on her neck and wrists before moving on to the carved wooden jewellery box; inlaid with a disk of mother of pearl and held closed with a small tarnished silver clasp. It looked very old, and Delia wondered if perhaps it was some sort of family heirloom._

_Just holding the little box, Delia found her heart was beating faster. There was something about jewellery... something she could almost remember, but not quite. Several times a day she found herself unconsciously putting a hand to her chest and feeling surprised when her fingers touched only the fabric of whatever shirt she was wearing. Until that moment she hadn't been able to identify the tick for what it was, but suddenly she felt certain that her hand was looking for a necklace that used to rest there and had been missing since the accident. Now, perhaps, she would find it, and unlock whatever memories it contained._

_The inside of the box was lined with blue velvet so faded that she would have thought its original colour to have been periwinkle if it wasn't for the preserved traces of deepest midnight blue right in the corners. Unless its previous owners had had a habit of putting the box out in bright sunshine with its lid open to leach the colour, the box must be very old indeed. Her grandmother's? Great grandmother's? Or just a jumble sale find? It was frustrating not to know, but the lure of the necklace (if necklace it was) drew her on._

_She sifted through the various bits of jewellery inside, knowing at a glance that it – whatever_ it _was, was missing, but taking her time over every item even so, holding them one by one and straining for a memory to surface, down to the last earring and hat pin, even tipping the box upside down and shaking it in case there was a false bottom. It was no good. None of these things seemed special, and after several minutes she shut the lid and put the box aside with the uncomfortable sense that she must have lost the treasure, whatever it was. A locket maybe? An heirloom passed on from her family surely, or some trinket she had held onto since she was a small girl. What else could feel this important? She didn't have a chap so it couldn't be some lovers token, and she reached for her chest not her finger, so it couldn't be a ring... her head was beginning to pound in the way it always did when she tried too hard to force her memories to come. Although she didn't think she could_ actually _cause a fit just by thinking too hard, she never liked to push too far and test that theory out, so with a sigh of frustration she pushed aside the box with its puzzling absence and pulled forwards the final case._

_There were books in this one – mostly medical texts but there were several novels as well (including a handful of murder mysteries and a stack of romances that looked so drippily sentimental that just reading the back cover set her teeth slightly on edge, as if she had taken a bite of something so sugary she could practically feel her tooth enamel dissolving. Had she_ really _enjoyed books like that before?). Bizarrely under all this there was also a repair manual for a twin tub washing machine she was fairly sure she'd never owned. What on Earth was that doing there?Had she had some sort of mechanical fascination before? It looked utterly mind numbing to her now, and she put it aside with a little shrug, intending to throw it out later. She certainly had no use for it._

_And then she found it. A slightly scuffed little book covered in brown leather that looked very much like it might be a journal. Her heart gave a leap - this was exactly what she had been hoping for. Perhaps finally she would get to read some insight into her pre-accident thoughts and feelings?_

_But it appeared not. When she opened it she discovered it was just a date book, containing her shift schedules and obscure abbreviations for what she could only assume were social events. Even those might have been worth reading, if only she'd written them out properly rather than jotting notes like_

_'6pm St J._ _Spare nylons!'_

_and  
'Silver Buckle, 7.30'_

_Although the fact that she had laddered three stockings already since coming out of hospital did go some way to explaining the former. Whatever 'St J' meant, it didn't surprise her that she had needed to take extra stockings to it. The silly things were just so flimsy.  
But there were other entries she couldn't even guess at. On one day she had written ''cubs-burns' and beneath it in a different pen 'DOG WARDEN!'. The second seemed to be a comment on the first, but she had no idea what either of the things meant, or how on Earth they related to each other._

_All of a sudden she was furious with Delia-Before. How could she have been so inconsiderate to live her whole life and leave so little behind for her future self to go on? Where were the boxes of treasures, the photograph albums, the diary where she could read all about the little things that had once been important to her? How was she supposed to reconstruct her life from a book of meaningless abbreviations and a manual for someone else's washing machine? Had she really been so callous and unattached to_ anything _?_

_Delia was beginning to really dislike this girl and wasn't at all sure she_ WANTED _to be her after all. She felt tears pricking her eyes and threw the little book across the bedroom in a fit of pique. It hit the wall with a thunk before crumpling to the floor, covers splayed and several pages bent backwards. Good, it served Delia-Before right. Delia had the hefty repair manual in her hand, ready to throw it right after the diary and indulge in a proper tantrum, but the noise of the journal hitting the wall made her stop and listen. If Patsy heard her crashing about like this she would be sure to think Delia had had a fit and fallen. She would come running to make sure she was alright, and Delia would have to confess to her childishness. She felt a little ashamed now. With a small sigh of disgust she tossed the manual gently to one side._

_And something fell out of it._

_It was a photograph, small enough to conceal in the palm of your hand and slightly worn from handling. Delia picked it up and smiled, surprised into forgetting her anger of a moment before. It was a picture of Patsy in the same uniform she remembered from the nurses at the hospital, with a high white cap and big puff sleeves. Her hair seemed to be blond in this picture and she looked a bit younger, but she was gazing at the camera with a familiar small smile that made her look rather dreamy and enigmatic. How on Earth had it ended up in there?_

_She turned back to the washing machine manual, a sort of desperate hope rising in her chest. Could it be...?_

_Yes. There was more. Much, much more. In fact there was something stuck to nearly every page. Mostly it seemed to be notes written in the handwriting she recognised as Patsy's from the memory book she had made her. They didn't really say much, but Delia read each one avidly, hungry for any scrap of information she could get and thrilled to see even these small glimpses into their friendship._

_'Delia,  
Thank you so much for the book loan, I haven't been able to put it down! Almost got in trouble with matron for reading after lights out last night. Knock for me when you're back from your shift and I'll buy you a coffee to say thanks,_

_Patsy'_  
.

_'Dear Deels,_

_Are you alright? I heard a frightful row on your ward this morning, I'd have come in to check but Sister Lea had her eye on me. I don't want to knock as I think you might be asleep. Please come and find me if you want._  
Pats x'  
.

_'Cinema tonight? X'_

_._

_'Dear Deels,_  
_Haven't seen you in forever. My room, usual time?_  
 _Pats xxx'_  
.

_'I'm_ _so_ _glad xxxxxxxxx'_

_._

_There were several more notes along the same lines, as well as a couple of birthday cards, a slightly bedraggled daisy (pressed carefully in a fold of tissue paper) and another photograph, this one of her and Patsy together, obviously in costume for something and looking like they were having a fine time. It was still a bit strange seeing photos of herself – she recognised the woman in the picture as her now of course, but it was a little surreal to see herself doing all these things she had no memory of, like stumbling across images of a previously undiscovered identical twin. It was a bit unnerving to wonder what her body had been getting up to all that time without her knowing it._

_All the same, it was a nice picture._

_But how strange that she had kept all these things hidden away inside a washing machine manual! Why was that? Maybe they had had different friendship groups at the hospital that disapproved of each other, so they had kept their own friendship secret? It seemed a little far fetched – surely grown up nurses wouldn't have behaved so childishly as to dictate who could and couldn't be friends. Perhaps it had just been some sort of game between them, or even just a way to keep all the papers flat until she got a proper memory book to stick them in. Yes, that was probably it._

_Delia placed the little photograph of Patsy carefully back inside the old manual and hugged it to her. Thank goodness she hadn't thrown it out without looking at it after all._

_She still had almost nothing to go on, but just for a moment she felt a sense of kinship with her former self and her strange hiding places. Maybe it would be alright after all, being Delia._


	11. Chapter 11

'That's not a word Delia'.

'What? Of course it's a word! And it's a word on a triple word score no less. Don't be a sore loser now Pats. You won the last two games but your lucky streak was bound to end eventually'.

Delia flashed Patsy a grin over the scrabble board to show she was only teasing and put a hand out hopefully in the direction of the bag of tiles.

'But what on Earth does it MEAN? I'm sure there isn't a single word in the English language that contains two V's, a Q and no vowels'.

'It's Welsh. Welsh is different with vowels'.

Patsy tried to look stern to make it clear that she wasn't buying it - even if Welsh words WERE allowed in scrabble she was fairly sure it was Ls and Ws they seemed to have too many of, not Vs and Qs. Somehow though the frown wouldn't quite stay in place and she felt a traitorous corner of her mouth lifting into a small smile as she struggled not to laugh. Delia had always tried to brazenly cheat like this when they had played together before the accident too. Usually she didn't let her get away with it (well not often… at least not when the cheating was THIS blatant), but it was so nice to see Delia relaxing enough with her to try such acts of mischief that instead of firmly handing back the tiles with an admonishment to play properly, she said only:

'Tell you what, since the dictionary seems to have mysteriously vanished ever since you discovered this scrabble board, if you can pronounce it and define it, I'll allow it'.

Patsy noticed Delia blush a little and squirm on her cushion, under which (Patsy was fairly certain) the missing dictionary was concealed.

'Alright… it's pronounced… it's pronounced… ah… nadolig llawen. And it means… Well there isn't a proper word for it in English, but it means that pleasant bubbly feeling you get when you know you're going to win'.

Patsy actually did laugh then, a real belly laugh that surprised her with its volume. Delia was a total scoundrel, but she was delighted to hear her saying something that really DID sound Welsh. Was she remembering something? There was no point asking what it actually meant now of course - Delia was tenacious in keeping up the threads of her tall tales when she was in the middle of them, but she made a mental note to ask whether 'nadolig llawen' really was Welsh and what it meant after the game.

'I could point out that what you've put doesn't even begin with N-'

'That combination of P and um… double V… always makes an N sound in-'

'I _could_ point that out, but I won't. I also won't point out that what you said has too many syllables for that number of letters, OR that Welsh words are absolutely not allowed in English scrabble. But… Go on, add up the points. I warn you though, you've set a precedent now. If I lapse into French or Latin you're not allowed to say a word of complaint'.

'You speak _Latin_?'

Patsy gave a little grimace 'Catholic boarding school. Latin rather comes with the territory I'm afraid'.

'Really? Will you tell me what it was like? Oh go on Pats, I want to know more about you'.

Patsy resisted the urge to bite her lip nervously. It was true that talking about school would be harmless enough, but it could so easily lead on to other, more painful questions…

She looked at Delia's suddenly shining eyes and hopeful expression.  
This wasn't a big deal. She had told her all this before after all, and it had been fine. Good, even. There was no reason it would be any different now. It was still Delia.

'There isn't much to tell really… It wasn't nearly as jolly as 'The twins at St Clare's' led me to believe it would be. Just imagine my youthful dismay on discovering that the Sisters actually _enforced_ such rules as 'no being out of bed after lights out' so all the midnight feasts I had been expecting were thwarted before they started! We weren't even allowed to get up to use the bathroom by some of the more rigorous rule keepers among them. But once I was over that disappointment I got along alright. I played a lot of sports, learned the difference between a Sister and a Nun and did enough penance that I feel certain I must be covered for any and all future misdemeanours, if anyone really is keeping note of such things'.

'So you didn't have any midnight feasts at _all_? Not in the whole time you were at school there?'

'Not even one'.

'How disappointing'.

Patsy gave a lopsided grin.

'Not entirely. Midnight was no good, the Sisters made their rounds on the hour. The best time for secret night time adventures was between 2.15 and 3.45 in the morning. The last dorm check was at 2am, then the Sisters were up at 4.15, so until 3.45 you could be fairly sure they would be asleep. We trained ourselves so well that it was months before I stopped waking up at 2.15 on the dot in the Nurses' Home…'

Patsy trailed off, remembering the first time she had told Delia this story. They had both been living at the Nurses' Home then, and when Delia had learned that Patsy still woke up at that time almost every night she had begged her to sneak in to her room and wake her for a late night feast. It had been the first of many precious stolen hours and a half. Much later, after they had admitted their feelings for each other, those late night meetings had been the only time they had really got to spend together without the facades, not worrying that someone was about to walk in or overhear their whispered conversations.

Just as she had the first time, Delia seemed charmed by the story.

'Do you still wake up at 2.15, ever?'

Patsy looked away. Her nightmares still plagued her nightly even now Delia was home, but although she half-woke from them frequently, she never looked at the clock anymore.

'No. Not for a while'.

She had expected more questions – a request for a 2.15 feast story perhaps, or even to know the difference between a Catholic Sister and a Catholic Nun (Sisters worked in the community, Nuns stayed cloistered in their convents to pray), but Delia seemed to have noticed the shift in Patsy's mood and made no further comment. Instead she flashed her old cheeky grin as she reached for the pencil stub they were using to note down the scores.

'Well Patience Mount, you're full of surprises. Who'd have thought I was about to beat a woman who speaks Latin at scrabble?'

'The game isn't over yet Deels'.

'Are you sure? Look, that's 27, but P is on a double letter so 30, then triple word score makes it 90! And gives me a nice lead of 56 points…I don't think it would be too presumptuous of me to open up a celebratory packet of pink wafers at this point'.

Delia dimpled at her hopefully and Patsy gave her another mock stern frown, though in reality she was grateful for her friend's sensitivity, and quietly impressed with the speed with which Delia had worked out the score. She was improving.  
That was half the reason they played games like this – it helped ease the boredom of the bed rest of course (which was really reclining chair rest, because Patsy couldn't confine Delia to the bedroom like a naughty child), but it also helped her retrain her mind to focus enough to come up with the words and perform the calculations required for scoring, as well as maintain the attention span to see the game through to the end.

Patsy looked back at her own letters. It seemed she had all of the vowels Delia had been lacking for her last word. What on Earth could she make with A A U I I I R?

Delia seemed to sense her hesitation and paused in her selection of new tiles to say

'You could always use a… hm… a _less conventional_ word if you wanted Pats, like I did. To be honest I think it's more fun playing scrabble that way anyway. We came up with some wonderful words when I used to play with my cousins. We practically developed our own secret language from it, eventually. The rule was the word had to look as though it _might_ be real, and you needed to be able to keep a straight face while you gave some sort of convincing definition, but if it turned out to actually be something we could find in the dictionary you didn't get the points for it. Uncle Dan didn't half get cross when he found out the reason we were chattering away in nonsense words. He'd bought the scrabble so we could improve our spelling and vocabulary you see, and there we were doing the opposite. You should have heard him yell Pats, you'd have thought we'd been throwing nain's china off the roof the way he carried on'.

Delia was smiling with a distant look on her face, seeming not to have noticed the fact that she had just described a concrete memory from her past in more detail than she had been able to do with anything so far. Maybe hearing a bit about Patsy's history had nudged something in Delia's brain to bring out more of her own? Patsy suppressed the urge to jump up and hug her in excitement, attempting to force a casual tone as she replied; trying to tease out as much of the recollection as she could without startling Delia out of it all together.

'Did you start playing properly after that?'

'No… We just waited until he went back down stairs and then defined 'hadwyk' as the odd purplish colour the tip of his nose went when he shouted. I suppose we were very naughty really'.

'It sounds like you and your cousins were close… did you spend a lot of time with them when you were growing up?'

Patsy wondered where the cousins were now, and why none of them - or even the aunt and uncle - had come forward after the accident to claim Delia. She was incredibly grateful to be able to care for her herself, but for the first time the beginnings of doubt were creeping into her mind. Delia was remembering these people, but she couldn't remember Patsy. Would she feel safer, happier, less lost, if she was in their company instead of hers? Was she just being selfish not to be even _trying_ to track them down, simply because she wanted Delia here with her? Before the accident she had no doubt about where Delia would want to be, but now? Now she wasn't so sure…

Delia was doodling on the corner of the scoring sheet as she answered, little stick figures taking shape beneath her pencil. A boy with freckles and hair sticking every which way. A girl with careful plaits reaching nearly halfway down her triangle of skirt. Another with a thick fringe and pigtails tied with ribbon…

'Quite often, when we were small. Once or twice a week I suppose. And Rhys was at the same junior school as me, so I suppose I saw him quite a bit then…'

The distant, dreamy look was clouding over into a frown as Delia concentrated on the frayed threads of memory, the pencil beginning to press down harder on the page as she struggled to get it right.

'No, that was a girls' school. It can't have been Rhys, it must have been Dilys… But I don't think it was. I could have sworn I remembered… '

The pencil lead snapped suddenly from the pressure Delia had been putting into her drawing and she gave herself a little shake, as if waking from a half doze. Patsy recognised the movement as an indication that reminiscing was getting too confusing and giving Delia a headache. There would be nothing to be gained from pushing her any further. The memories would come in their own time. She returned quickly to the scrabble board, hoping to distract Delia before she grew too distressed by her inability to remember properly.

'Alright, how about aioniriu? It means the sensation of attempting to scratch an itchy tongue with one's teeth'.

It seemed to have worked. Delia gave a delighted little laugh and threw a cushion at Patsy.

'Oh come on Pats. Itchy _tongue_? Nobody gets an itchy tongue!'

Patsy threw the cushion back, pretending to be affronted.

'Just because _you_ have been fortunate enough not to experience it, it doesn't mean everyone else is so lucky!'

'Alright alright, but it's only 8 points. Oh no sorry, nine, the O's on a double letter. Still not ever so impressive!'

'You're forgetting the extra 50 for using up all my letters. 59 points, which means I am 3 ahead of you… and there's only four tiles left in the bag! I might beat you yet'.

Delia pouted a little as she retrieved the spare pencil from the box to note down Patsy's score.

'Oh no you _don't_ Patience Mount. I'm beating you this time if I have to sit up until midnight to figure out how. Although I suppose this is my own fault really. That's what I get for trying to be fair in my chea- erm, my… creative use of the rules'.

In the end Delia finished two points ahead of Patsy with only minimal further cheating and jumped up to do an impromptu little tap dance around the table in triumph.

'Victory! I'm going to fetch my memory book, we need to document this moment so I won't forget the first time I beat you since I broke my brain'.

She seemed to have entirely forgotten that she was supposed to be an invalid on bed rest, and thankfully, to have forgotten her moment of discomfort over her cousins.

The score sheet had fluttered to the ground when Delia leapt up to celebrate and Patsy couldn't help noticing that the doodle of Delia and her cousins was now scored through with a thick, dark line, their happy smiles almost entirely obliterated. Was it caused by the random jerk of the pencil when she had put too much pressure on it? Or was there something more behind the action? A subconscious memory of how she had lost touch with these childhood playmates perhaps?

Until she knew whether the parting had been amicable she didn't want to put too much energy into tracking these people down. What if there had been a family feud Delia had never mentioned? She might not want to see them again. _They_ might not want to see _her_ …

All the same, Patsy was growing more convinced by the hour that Delia needed more people in her life who had known and cared about her before the accident. Maybe the people she remembered so far weren't around, but Delia was popular and well liked here, and she didn't know it. For all she knew, Patsy was her only friend. That wasn't fair.

By the time Delia returned, her book newly updated and her cheeks still slightly flushed with pleasure at her triumph; Patsy was ready with a pen and her address book.

'Are you up for a bit more writing Deels? I think its time I told you more about your other friends'.

Delia's grin faded slowly into a more serious expression as she looked down at the book in her hands.

'I did wonder about others when I was reading what you'd put. I know I could have asked, but I didn't like to...'

'Why ever not? You know I'm happy to answer as much as I can, I wouldn't have minded'.

'It wasn't that... it was... well... what if I didn't like the answer? What if it had turned out that you _were_ my only friend? I don't remember having any other visitors in the hospital after all. I know I was on a lot of medication, and it was ages before my short term memory was good enough to even remember _you_ properly from day to day, but there was at least a week when I'd have remembered. Maybe more...'

Patsy hedged a little. Delia was giving her such a hopeful look, as if she might be able to explain it all away – to say her friends had tried to see her every day, but weren't allowed, or that they'd all coincidentally been on a month long cruise when the accident happened. Anything that would mean she hadn't been abandoned when she most needed someone.

As far as Patsy knew, none of the others _had_ been to visit Delia in their own time, but then again...

'They're mostly girls you knew from nursing at the London. I expect when you saw them they'd have been in uniform. You might not have known them as friends rather than just more nurses'.

'I never thought of that! I suppose I should have, since I knew I once worked there... All that time, I might have been surrounded by my best friends without knowing it'.

Delia seemed unable to decide whether she found that idea comforting or disturbing, reflexively gripping her book a little tighter as she thought about it. Patsy had noticed that most of the time Delia didn't seem to need her memory book anymore – she still had to concentrate to remember small details, but her short term memory was good enough that she could keep hold of the important things without having to refer to what was written in it. At times like this though, when she felt conflicted or anxious, she would often return to her hospital habit of keeping the book close by; as if it were an anchor that could stop her getting lost in the turbulent sea of her own confused memories. By the time she spoke again she was hugging the book against her chest, her eyes gazing at a point over Patsy's left shoulder as she concentrated on her hazy recollection of the hospital.

'I don't remember much about the nurses that were looking after me. They all seem to blur into one generic purple uniformed woman in my head. But... I _do_ remember that none of them seemed to like me very much. They all had this look like I was letting them down, and even when I could convince them to talk to me they wouldn't look me in the eye, and they'd always leave in such a hurry. If they _did_ used to be my best friends, I don't think they want to be anymore...'

A shadow of that old, lost look from the first days after the accident passed over her face, as if she were right back at the beginning; confused and afraid of the huge, unfamiliar world that threatened to swallow her whole. Patsy felt a hot anger blooming in her chest, just as it had when Joan had talked about how hard Delia's accident had been for _her_. Not only had they all failed to visit properly outside their shifts, they had been so selfish in their reaction to the accident that they'd made Delia believe they actually _disliked_ her. Patsy quite wanted to round them all up and give them a good shake. If they couldn't be there properly for their friend they should at least refrain from making it worse. But Delia was still sitting in front of her, looking small and hurt, and the last thing she needed was to hear a furious diatribe against the friends she had only just discovered she had. So Patsy did her best to suppress the frustration and think about what Delia herself would have said in this situation, had their positions been reversed.

She thought about Joan running up to her at the last minute outside the Nurses' Home to ask after Delia, and about the rest of them standing behind her, all looking ready to cry but not quite knowing how to approach. For the first time she considered whether it was _her_ that had kept them away. After all, she had spent every minute of every visiting hour with Delia, and she had been relying so heavily on her brisk Nurse Mount facade in dealing with anyone else at the hospital (lest she break down and start crying in front of them, but _they_ had no way of knowing that) that they might well have been a bit intimidated about the prospect of joining the visit. She felt the faint stirrings of guilt start in her stomach then, and although she hadn't _entirely_ forgiven the others, she was able to respond to Delia's fears without betraying the feeling in her voice.

'It wasn't that they didn't like you Deels. They were sad for you, and I suppose they didn't know what to say, so they acted a little awkwardly. I think they were afraid of saying the wrong thing and upsetting you. I know it isn't exactly a helpful response... but I also know how much they care about you'.

' _You_ never did that, and you were sad too'.

'It's not really the same'.

Patsy bit her lip. She shouldn't have said that. Delia was already frowning, clearly about to ask what exactly made it so different in Patsy's case. What could she possibly say to explain it away? To divert Delia's attention she changed the subject rather too quickly, aware even as she said the words that they might sound a little snappish, but unsure how to make it better beyond keeping her tone soft and offering Delia a smile, willing her to understand that she wasn't cross.

'Do you want to hear about them? If you'd rather not I don't have to say any more. We could just play another game instead'.

'No, you're right Pats. I do want to know. Please'.

Delia opened her memory book to a blank page, pen poised to take notes as she looked up at Patsy expectantly. Patsy almost said something else – an apology for her brusque change of direction, an assurance that Delia could ask whatever she liked... but of course she couldn't, could she? No matter what Patsy claimed to the contrary, she _couldn't_ answer certain questions honestly. If she did it might put them both in danger, ruin any sense of safety Delia had been building in their new life and, if word spread any further, risk having her taken away to a psychiatric facility. There was no way the hospital would continue letting Patsy care for Delia if they knew who she really was to her.

So instead, she began to tell her about Joan, and Mary, and Trudie. For the next half an hour she went into as much detail as she could about her closest friends, as well as the more peripheral pals that had populated Delia's ward, the St John's ambulance team, even the boys from cubs. In the end Delia had eight fresh pages written out, and Patsy had written down the address and telephone number for the Nurses' Home.

'We could invite them over to the flat, if you wanted. I'm sure they'd love to see you'.

'I don't think I'm ready for that. It is nice to know there are other people out there that care about me, but I can't help thinking about the way they were with me in the hospital. I'm not ready for people to look at me that way again'.

'I'm sure if they saw you now, looking so much better and in your own home-'

'No Pats. It wouldn't be like it is with you, they'd feel like strangers. But, strangers that think I'm someone else and are expecting me to say or do things I don't know how to. And when I don't...'

Delia bowed her head for a moment, then gave Patsy a reassuring smile, to show she wasn't really too upset.

'I don't want them to visit. But... I think I might like to write to... which one was it?'

She paused to check the name in her memory book before continuing.

'I'd like to write to Joan'.


	12. Chapter 12

_'What about this one?'_

_Delia help up one of the dozens of cards that were scattered around her on the floor and grinned at Patsy's scandalised look._

_'Delia, that's_ **hideous** _, it would be like living inside a child's sugar induced nightmare'._

_'I think it's rather a fetching shade. Cheerful'._

_She was having to bite her lip to keep from laughing at this point, but teasing Patsy was too much fun to give up so easily and with a brief effort of will she forced her features to remain in an expression of the deepest earnestness._

_'Look, it would go nicely with this lime green. And perhaps a pretty orange trim?'_

_But it seemed she had pushed her friend's credulity too far at last, because the horrified expression was replaced by an impish half smile on Patsy's face as she took the cards from Delia's hands._

_'Oh well now you mention it, perhaps I wasn't quite giving lurid pink a fair trial. I can pick up the paint this afternoon and we can have the whole flat covered in it by tonight. Every wall and door. Perhaps the ceilings too. I could even get you new bed sheets to match. And curtains. And-'_

_Delia shuddered and put out a hand to cut the speech short._

_'Alright, you win!_ **Please** _stop making me imagine that. My eyes are watering just thinking about it... But what colour_ should _we paint it? We can't keep these bare walls forever and we've been going through these samples for nearly an hour now. Are you sure Fred brought all they had?'_

_'He said so. What about the mint green? You liked that. Or the magnolia? It's inoffensive at least, if you'd rather go neutral'._

_'They're both alright I suppose, they're just a bit... they aren't quite...'_

_She stopped, frustrated at being unable to explain what she meant. The colours_ were _fine, and as Patsy had said either one would be entirely inoffensive, but when she held them up and imagined the walls that shade it just didn't make her feel a sense of rightness, the way she was sure home ought to feel. She was quite sure there was a right answer to what colour the room should be, and equally certain they hadn't found it yet._

_All at once Delia was heartily sick of the paint charts, and scrabble, and books that apparently she used to love but could now barely think about the plots of because she was too busy trying to work out if her reactions to them were new or remembered._

_'Let's go out'._

_Patsy blinked, evidently wrong-footed by the sudden change of subject, and Delia could see she was getting ready to object, to say she was still supposed to be resting, that it was cold out, that there was nowhere to go, and if she started saying it then Delia would give up in the face of her undoubtedly overwhelming logic. This wasn't the first time they had had a similar discussion after all, but this time she was determined to win and kept speaking before her friend could recover herself enough to interrupt._

_'Go on Pats. We needn't go far. We could visit Nonnatus House! Trixie's invited us enough times, and I'd be so surrounded by nurses there that nothing bad could possibly happen. Maybe their decor would even give us some inspiration for painting the walls in here. Maybe... Maybe I'm feeling a desperate urge to commune with the Lord and NEED to visit a convent. As a matter of religious crisis. Surely you can't object if I need nuns, and where better to find some than your old convent?'_

_She could hear the wheedling note entering her voice but she couldn't help it. Now the idea had taken root in her mind she seemed to be powerless to stop it. But rather than voicing any of the quite sensible concerns she might have had, Patsy gave the little splutter of laughter that always sounded to Delia as though she was surprised to find it coming from her own mouth._

_'What sort of crisis could you possibly be having that means you need_ nuns _?'_

_'The... kind where I'm desperately fed up of being stuck inside and I'm restless and I want a change of scenery?'_

_Patsy seemed to be considering for another moment, and then she gave a decisive nod._

_'Alright. You go and get ready, I'll run to the phone box on the corner and let them know to expect us. Trixie should be here any minute and she always saves us for last on her rounds, so we can walk back with her'._

_Delia felt a grin of sheer incredulous delight spread across her face._

_'You really mean it? We can go?'_

_'Of course Deels. I'm not your jailer, and you may have amnesia but you're still a grown up. I don't see why you shouldn't get to make your own choices, as long as we're sensible about it'._

_Delia only managed by the barest of margins to keep from flinging herself on Patsy in a grateful hug that would have sent both of them tumbling to the ground and probably set her not quite fully healed ribs on fire. Instead she expended her exuberance by gathering an armload of paint cards and throwing them up in the air to fall around them in a rainbow hued shower. It didn't exactly work as she'd imagined and both she and Patsy had to duck and cover their heads with their arms to avoid the unexpectedly sharp-pointed corners, but even that couldn't put a dent in her enthusiasm. She reached across to pluck out the puce card that had lodged itself comically into the top of Patsy's beehive, too happy even to be sheepish about the foolishness of throwing them in the first place._

_'Looks like the fates have decided. Walls the colour of questionable spam. Lovely'._

_'Oh yes, just what I always hoped for, a home that looks like processed meat. We'll be vegetarians within the month and Nurse Crane will be delighted'._

_'Well then I can't wait to discuss it with her when we get there. Speaking of which...'_

_'Yes, yes alright! I'm going to the phone box right now, stick to the rules while I'm out'._

_'The ones that say no dying or maiming myself by fitting and falling on something pointy?'_

_'Yes, those ones'._

_'Well alright. Only as it's you though'._

_They shared a fleeting smile before Patsy went to find some coins for the phone and Delia hurried to get changed. She wanted to make a good impression on Patsy's friends, even if it wasn't strictly a first one._

…

_Delia had been hovering impatiently near the door for a full five minutes by the time she heard footsteps, and then an unfamiliar voice calling_

_'Midwife! Can I come in?'_

_She opened the door to reveal a tall, slender girl with dark hair and a friendly smile._

_Delia tried to fight back her disappointment that it wasn't Trixie and therefore their journey to Nonnatus House was not as close as she had thought. But it wasn't the midwife's fault after all, so there was no sense in being bad tempered about it._

_'You'd be welcome company, but I think maybe you've got the wrong house. That or Pats has got some explaining to do... as far as I know neither of us are expecting!'_

_Suddenly a new thought struck her and Delia paused._

_'At least if I was I feel certain someone would have told me by now...'_

_She put a hand doubtfully to her stomach, ludicrously afraid for a moment that perhaps she_ **was** _expecting and no one had thought to mention it (and if so, where on EARTH was the father?). It felt reassuringly flat, but pregnancy didn't show until a few months along did it? How soon would you know before there was a bump? Without remembering what she had been up to over the last few months she supposed it_ could _be possible and however unlikely, it was still a terrifying thought._

_But the midwife was blushing and shaking her head, stammering out an apology, and suddenly Delia recognised her._

_'Wait a bit. You're- you're YOU! The girl from the picture. Sorry I'm afraid I've forgotten your name. Patsy did tell me but... well, I still have trouble with some of the details. But you're her friend aren't you? Patsy's I mean. From Nonnatus House? I should have realised at once from your uniform, it's the same as Trixie's'._

_'Yes, that's me! And I'm ever so sorry about before. It's just such habit, it's been an age since I was last on the district rota. I was meant to say_ Nurse _calling, not midwife. You're not pregnant. At least I don't think so. I mean I haven't actually done a test but as far as I know you're not. I'm mean I'm fairly sure...I mean... Sorry. Let's start again. I'm Barbara. Hallo. Or rather, good afternoon'._

_Barbara stuck out a hand to shake, looking slightly flustered and still pink cheeked with embarrassment. Delia smiled at her, noting the 'good afternoon' and wondering if that was Nurse Crane's influence. She suspected this girl had been scolded for greeting patients with an informal 'hello' before and was trying to remember to change it. She took the offered hand and shook it warmly - somehow the awkward babbling of Barbara's explanation made her feel a sort of kinship with this girl. She looked about as muddled as Delia felt half the time since this accident, and it was nice to be able to take the role of the confident one in a conversation for once._

_'Barbara, do come in! I take it this_ is _the right house? Are you our district nurse? We didn't realise Trixie's time was up, but we were hoping it would be another Nonnatun when it was. We've had such fun with Trixie's visits'._

_She glanced at Barbara, suddenly remembering why she was here and that she wasn't certain how strict this girl was about the letter of the law when it came to bed rest._

_'Well, you know. Gentle, invalid approved fun. We're ever so well behaved. Anyway, come through to the lounge! Patsy's just nipped out to the phone box but she'll be back any moment... she's promised that if you approve of my state today then we can come back with you to Nonnatus House for a visit. She's gone now to call ahead and make sure no one objects. I do hope you won't mind?'._

_For a moment Barbara looked delighted, but then her face fell just the tiniest bit._

_'That would be lovely! We've all been dying for a visit... but aren't you supposed to be on bed rest? Wouldn't it make you unwell?'_

_'Well, technically I am, but Dr Turner's been round and he says as long as I go to bed early and lie down if I feel too tired during the day then I can get up now. The doctor at the hospital_ did _prescribe a full month of bed rest when I was discharged, but between you and me I think that was only because he didn't know what else to suggest. We've been reading up on it you see. Pats and me. She's got all sorts of articles from the Lancet and the British Medical Journal that say activity's the thing. For seizures_ AND _amnesia actually. And since Dr Turner approved... you won't tell on us to the hospital will you Barbara? Bed rest is so unutterably dull, and I'm being very well looked after, truly'._

_Delia bit her lip, suddenly afraid that Nonnatus House had not been the best choice of places to visit after all. What if Barbara didn't approve of their slightly lax adherence to the rules? Would Patsy get in trouble with the hospital? She knew the circumstances that led to her being allowed to care for Delia in the first place had been some what unusual, so they might be watching the case more closely than most._

_But she needn't have worried. The slight frown was gone from Barbara's expression and she was looking almost as excited as Delia felt about the prospect of their coming._

_'Of course I won't! I shouldn't have doubted it was alright if Patsy had said so, she always could be the strictest of us all when she wanted to, of course she wouldn't have suggested going out if she didn't think you were well enough! I'm sorry to have to put you through these checks at all, really. I know Patsy is perfectly capable, but since she's not currently employed as a nurse she's not allowed to write the notes up'._

_'I don't mind a bit. It's nice for Patsy to get to spend some time with her friends, and I enjoy the company as well. I'll probably be so used to it before long that it'll feel odd if I meet someone and they_ don't  _take my blood pressure and check my pupil responses while we chat'._

_Barbara laughed and they went through to the living room to run through the now highly familiar procedure. By the time they were finished and Barbara had written up her notes, Patsy had returned with the reassurance that Sister Julienne would be delighted to have them and had insisted they should stay long enough to take tea with them all later that afternoon._

_Delia_ _couldn't wait to meet them. She did feel a_ little _guilty that she was so eager to spend time with these people when she had refused Patsy's offer of setting up a visit with her own pre-accident friends, but somehow this felt different._ _For one thing, she knew for sure that she would recognise three of them straight off (she had already met Nurse Crane and Trixie and now Barbara after all, and none had treated her strangely), and for another, none of them_ _had really known her as more than an acquaintance before her accident. With them she had the chance to be liked in her own right, rather than for the sake of who she used to b_ _e. They wouldn't expect anything of her, so she couldn't disappoint them._

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what? I think I'm in the mood for a sneaky early update. Anyone else in that sort of a mood? Hey lets go wild. Have an early update on the house :)

_To begin with Delia was delighted with the expedition. The pavement was wet with recent rain and there was a definite bite in the air; but a mild wintry sunshine was dappling through the clouds, lending a sheen to the puddles and making the cold feel fresh instead of merely oppressive. They skirted a couple of toddlers who were stomping their way through the biggest puddles in Wellington booted feet and whooping like fire engines with the sheer joy of it. For a moment she felt a mad urge to jump in a puddle or two herself and see the droplets fly up around her like waves breaking on a beach, but she resisted the childish impulse, contenting herself instead with tucking her hand into the crook of Patsy's elbow as they walked. Ostensibly she did this for support, in case she should have one of her dizzy spells; but mostly she just enjoyed the warmth and familiarity of the touch._

_At least at first. After a while though... She tried not to show it but the walk from the flat to Nonnatus House was becoming harder on Delia than she had expected. After only about 10 minutes she stopped noticing the sun, or the fresh smell of recent rain. Her ankle was aching and her leg muscles felt weak and shaky beneath her. She tried to focus on the story Barbara was telling about a funny incident that had happened on her rounds that morning, but she found her attention kept wandering back to the air she was trying not to let rasp too audibly from her lungs; so the story went from Barbara cycling to her first patient as usual to her arriving at her fourth wearing a tinsel halo instead of her hat, and Delia had no idea how they had come to that point._

‘… _And it was only_ then  _that anyone thought to point it out to me! Honestly if it hadn’t been for their little Johnny asking if I was an angel I might have kept it on all day. It was like the Emperor’s New Clothes’._

_Delia laughed and made a vague answer that she thought sounded natural and suitably amused, although from the worried glance she was receiving from Patsy she suspected she was mistaken. Her friend slowed their pace a bit and murmured in a voice too soft to carry to Barbara on Delia’s other side:_

_'Are you alright? Do you need to stop for a rest? I’d say we could just go home, but we’re closer to Nonnatus than the flat now and I think you need to sit down as soon as possible’._

_Delia gave her a nod and squeezed her arm in silent gratitude as she whispered back:_

_'I’m fine. I just need to get used to walking further than the distance between my bed and the living room again. But I can make it’._

_It seemed the exchange had not been quite as discrete as they thought though, for at that moment Barbara chipped in:_

_'You could sit on my bike if you like. Patsy and I could take a handle each to pull you along, if you think you could balance. It might not be the most comfortable means of travel but there’s not far to go’._

_It demonstrated just how deep Delia’s exhaustion went that she considered the idea for a moment. But she pictured the strange spectacle they would make going down the road that way, and the impression she would make on the people at Nonnatus House if she arrived awkwardly clinging to the seat of a bike being pushed by two midwives, one of whom was in uniform. No, it wouldn’t do. Quite aside from the fact that Barbara might be scolded for such an undignified display, she might not be allowed to come again if they thought her too weak to make the journey. And Delia badly wanted to be invited again. The idea of having somewhere else to go, somewhere she would be welcomed and have normal company outside their flat was just too appealing to let go without a fight. So although she thanked Barbara for her offer she declined the necessity of it and turned the conversation firmly back to other things._

_'So what did you do with the halo after Johnny pointed it out? How on Earth did you explain?’_

_Barbara gave a slightly embarrassed laugh and drew forth the halo from the case on the back of her bike_

_'I still have it. It got a little bent so I’m going to fix it and then take it back to Mrs Simmons when I go to check on her husband’s ulcers tomorrow. I probably should have just told the truth about how I came to be wearing it, but I got flustered and said it was a festive touch for Christmas instead. I’m awfully afraid I’m going to be expected to have some sort of costume every day of advent for their visit now, and goodness knows what my second and third visits made of it’._

_'Gracious Babs,make sure they don’t expect all of us in costume, Sister Evangelina will have kittens if her patients ask why she isn’t wearing reindeer antlers’._

_Barbara seemed too much torn between amusement at the idea of Sister Evangelina (who Delia assumed must be one of the sterner members of the order) wearing antlers, and terror at the thought that her morning’s escapades might make it back to her to notice the slip in what Patsy said, but Delia wasn’t. Patsy had said 'all of us’, counting herself among the nurses that might be on those rounds, and Delia felt a familiar knot of guilt twist in her stomach._

_Patsy had given up this job – given up_ everything – _for_ her.  _Why? She had explained that her parents were abroad and so far no one had found an address for them among Delia’s things so there was no one else to claim her, but why had_ Patsy  _taken all this on even so? From the way her friend talked about her time working in Poplar, Delia knew that she truly loved midwifery and her life at Nonnatus House, so no matter what she said to the contrary she clearly had made a sacrifice to be here with her. She didn’t think Patsy was aware of how animated she became when she talked about it, or the smile and the faraway look she got during the stories; or she probably would have tried to suppress them so that Delia wouldn’t feel… exactly what she was feeling now._

_As the large building that was evidently Nonnatus House came into view and Delia felt her straighten up and unconsciously quicken her pace towards it, she made a decision, and she had heard enough stories to know who she would need to speak to to carry it out._

_She tuned back in to Barbara’s voice just in time to hear her telling them to go straight in without her so that Delia could sit down: 'I just need to put my bike away and see to my instruments, I’ll be with you in a tick’._

_Patsy didn’t object, leading Delia up the steps and straight through the front door without so much as a knock. As if she still thought of this place as her home._

_'Trixie should be about somewhere. She picked up the phone when I called and it’s her day off, she says she can’t wait to see you when she’s not in uniform so it can finally feel like a social call. Trixie?’_

_The last word was called out questioningly as a door at the end of the hall opened. But the person that emerged a moment later to greet them was not Trixie. An elderly lady dressed in a dark blue habit came forwards at a slow, pained shuffle that did not seem to Delia to be entirely genuine. When she spoke, her voice contained a slight tremor that rang similarly false, and Delia paid closer attention to the woman as she gazed at them with apparently good natured short sightedness. She was playing the role of loveable grandmother, that much seemed obvious, and Delia suspected at once that whatever interactions they had would be interesting, if nothing else._

_'The wanderer returns! And not before time, for the nights are cold without your red fire my dear, and you have been missed. But I see you do not come alone’._

_The old nun came forward to clasp both of Delia’s hands in hers, cradling them as gently as if she held a fledgling bird on her palms while she gazed intently into her face. Her words were murmured with a focus that seemed to exclude Patsy entirely, as if she saw to the heart of Delia and spoke for her alone._

_'Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares. So says Hebrews 13:2, and so I say now. I am certain no light ere shined so bright as that which you bring to our hearth today. Be welcome then, and we shall have cake!’_

_Patsy cut in before the lady could succeed in her attempts to tug Delia further into the house, presumably in search of the promised cake._

_'Sister, I really think-’_

_The nun gathered Delia’s hands possessively closer to her chest and cut across Patsy with an air of wounded dignity, a note of sharpness creeping in to smother her gentle quavering._

_'Our wayward wanderer believes my wits addled and my sense quite fled, as if the words of our lord were somehow inappropriate at this juncture’._

_'Oh I’m sure she couldn’t have meant that Sister. You seem to me quite the wisest of souls, and I will admit to you that I have more experience of addled wits than most, so I can speak with some authority on the matter’._

_It seemed the comment was enough for the old lady to realise who she was, for she nodded gravely as though she quite understood and recited:_

_'My mind lets go a thousand things,_  
_Like dates of wars and deaths of kings,_  
 _And yet recalls the very hour–_  
 _'Twas noon by yonder village tower,_  
 _And on the last blue noon in May…’_

_She seemed to have misplaced the rest of the verse in her mind and sighed gently before adding_

_'But it seems my mind lets go even that, for I know not what befell that blue noon, nor even which the poet refers to. But I think you at least understand that, as others-’_

_Here she paused to glare haughtily at Patsy_

’ _-never shall’._

_Delia was about to say something else – she wasn’t sure quite what, but_ something _, when the last of the dreamy expression vanished from the nun’s face and she turned quite brisk and merry, so suddenly that it was hard to reconcile her with the person that had been standing before them a moment ago._

_'I like this one, she is bright as quicksilver and blessed with a thousand tender joys. You have done well to find her for us Nurse Mount’._

_And then to Delia- 'you may sit beside me at the tea table, and we shall ensure ourselves the best of the cake. Until then, I must bid you both farewell. I have duties to attend to’._

_And with that she gave Delia’s hands a final squeeze, then turned and strode away from them without the slightest hint of the affected frailty she had demonstrated on her arrival._

_Delia felt altogether too stunned by the welcome to comment on it. How did one even begin to make sense of such an unusual exchange? She could tell she had by some miraculous chance made a good impression, but how or why or what_ exactly _had just happened she couldn’t say. It was gratifying to see Patsy looking almost as puzzled as she felt, although there was a touch of fondness in her expression too, mingled with an obviously familiar exasperation._

_'Well Deels, you’ve survived your first encounter with Sister Monica Joan and obviously passed muster. She seems quite taken with you in fact. I’m sorry I forgot to warn you that might happen before we got here though. I’m afraid new entrants to Nonnatus House do tend to receive rather an unusual welcome from her. I remember she quoted verse to me too when I got here, although rather less complimentary ones than your angel passage. Something about earning ones keep I believe. Still, you’ve passed the worst of it. I don’t suppose anything from this point forwards will be quite so confusing as that was’._

_'I rather liked her. I didn’t understand everything she said, but I suspect she and I will have things to talk about, if we visit here often. I look forward to spending more time in her company’._

_In fact, Sister Monica Joan had been more than Delia could have hoped for and she felt confidence in her plan swell to a bubble of excitement in her chest. That was the last of her major concerns on the matter settled. It was going to work. It had to._

_Just then the door opened again, and this time it really was Trixie, a look of friendly impatience on her face_

_'I_ thought  _I heard your dulcet tones out here. What_ are  _you up to standing in the hall? Come on in and see everyone before we die of waiting’._

_She ushered both of them through to a warm parlour where a small group of women wearing habits were engaged on various hobby crafts while Nurse Crane murmured quietly to herself over a book of what appeared to be Spanish phrases. Although they had only met briefly before, Delia felt strangely delighted to see Nurse Crane again, and greeted her with a hug that seemed to surprise her, if only for a moment._

_She wanted to pay proper attention to the other people who were getting ready to introduce themselves, but by now her mind was feeling blurry with exhaustion and she couldn’t take any of it in. She really_ did _need to sit down before her legs simply refused to keep holding her up. Luckily the small, softly spoken young nun who had been first to come forwards (Mary Cynthia, had she said her name was?) seemed to notice her difficulty and steered her gently towards a large chair near the fire that had evidently been bolstered with pillows in anticipation of her arrival. There was even a blanket folded up beside it, and Trixie fetched a footstool and insisted she propped her leg on it._

_'I know your sprain is mostly better, but we can’t be too careful. We could hardly risk making your condition worse by having you to visit, our professional pride would never stand the shame of it!’_

_Her tone was light and casual, and Delia knew without having to witness it that this was exactly the way they would all treat one of their own who had been hurt like this. She would find no patronising manners or awkwardness here. She felt her self relax slightly into her seat and smiled. After being so tired it felt good to sit down, and even better to be in such company._

_By the time Delia was settled the rest of the group had tactfully turned their attention elsewhere and were listening as Patsy launched into the story of their meeting with Sister Monica Joan in the hall._

_'Honestly, I have never seen her take to someone quite as quickly as she did Delia. No tricks, or teasing, no scolding. She practically called her an angel, and actually promised to share the best pieces of cake with her at tea time!’_

_'Gosh Delia, you are lucky! When I first got here she shut the door in my face and I wasn’t let in until_ after  _my suitcase had burst open and half my clothes were stolen by neighbourhood dogs. Although in fairness I don’t think there was any way she could know that was going to happen’._

_This was from Barbara, who had slipped in behind them as Patsy talked. Almost everyone laughed at the obviously familiar story, but one older nun looked disapproving and muttered about the pair of them making a scene right there on the doorstep for everyone to see. In fact it looked very much as if she was gearing up to scold Barbara over the incident and deliver a well worn lecture on proper conduct when Sister Mary Cynthia once again demonstrated her sensitivity for imminent trouble by gently turning the conversation to the safer topic of an upcoming Christmas charity fundraiser. For a moment it seemed the other (was this the stern Sister Evangelina who would not approve of reindeer antlers?) would object and insist on saying her piece, but after a few seconds of frowning indecision she gave in and turned back to her darning with a small 'harrumph’ of displeasure._

_Barbara visibly relaxed as the disaster was averted and settled herself next to Delia’s chair, continuing their interrupted discussion at a volume the formidable Sister wouldn’t overhear._

_'Did she really call you an angel? What did you say to her?’_

_'Sort of. She quoted a bit of the bible about giving hospitality to strangers because they might turn out to be angels in disguise. But I hadn’t said a word! I’ve no idea how I impressed her but I’m glad I did, your story sounds rather intimidating. How on Earth did it all come about?’_

_And so with one more glance at Sister Evangelina, Barbara launched into an account of her arrival at Nonnatus House. To Delia’s delight she was an excellent story teller and before long she was having to bite her lip to keep from laughing aloud as Barbara described one disaster after another, starting with not realising until the train had started moving that she’d caught her skirt in the door and having to stand awkwardly in the passageway until the next stop when she could finally open it to free herself; and continuing through to Sister Monica Joan stealing the biscuit off her saucer at the clinic and then acting as though nothing had happened._

_'If it wasn’t for Patsy and Trixie inviting me to spend the evening with them I really would have felt the whole of London was trying to get rid of me! Although even that didn’t go particularly smoothly and I’m afraid I utterly embarrassed myself’._

_'What happened?’_

_'Trixie made these drinks… she had a bottle of the rose hip syrup we give out at the clinic and I don’t know what else - something much more alcoholic than she led me to believe anyway! She called it 'fortified wine’ and reassured me that all those vitamins made it practically a health tonic. It didn’t work that way for me though. Patsy and Trixie were none the wiser at first, talking about being on the shelf and dancing together and then… well, it turns out that when I drink I get very earnest, and then very, very sick. Patsy was so kind about it though, she stayed up with me half the night while I was stuck kneeling on the bathroom floor trying to make the world stop spinning’._

_'You poor thing, that sounds ghastly! What a way to start a new job. I’ll say one thing though, your story is going to give me gloating rights over Patsy! She_ claims _people find her intimidating, but you have just proved that she has always been an utter sweetheart. I don’t believe she ever was thought scary’._

_Barbara looked surprised at that:_

_'Oh she is! Well. Not scary exactly – she isn’t mean or anything and she can be gentle as anything when she wants to, but she can do this sort of brisk, stern thing that makes people snap to attention. I think it’s because she had to keep the patients in line working on the male surgical ward before she came here. Or maybe it’s something she picked up from the nuns at boarding school, since you worked on that ward too and you don’t seem the least bit frightening…’_

’Did _I? I didn’t know that! I knew we were in training together, but I didn’t know Pats and I actually worked on the same ward! I must have missed her when she left to come here. I can see why she did though, everyone’s so kind. It really feels like a family’._

_She felt a little wistful as she said it, wondering again why_ her _family weren’t here. She couldn’t imagine wanting to live with anyone more than she did Patsy, but even so, it was difficult to have no idea if her parents cared for her at all, or even if she still_ had _parents. It seemed they had dropped off the map entirely. Shouldn’t she at least have letters and cards they had sent her from their new home abroad? Shouldn’t she have a book with their address in it somewhere? And if not, what could she possibly have done to make them cut her off so completely? And what about her aunt and uncle, and the cousins she had remembered in brief childhood flashes? They had seemed so close in the memories of playing scrabble together, so where were they now? Shutting her eyes briefly she wrenched her thoughts back to the present. It would do no good to speculate like this, for all her mind drifted back to the question several times a day. She might as well focus on things she_ could _make a difference to._

_'Barbara – is Sister Julienne in here? I don’t think she was introduced to me when I came in, but there were quite a few new names and I was feeling a bit wobbly so I might have missed it’._

_'No, she’s in the office I think’._

_'Could I go and see her? I mean, would it be a disturbance do you think? There’s something I wanted to ask, but I’d hate to make an imposition if she’s busy’._

_Barbara looked surprised but she didn’t try to pry into Delia’s reasons, just nodded and replied:_

_'I’m sure she’d be glad to talk to you, she never seems to find it an annoyance when someone goes to see her, she’s always very welcoming. Do you want me to show you where the office is?’_

_Delia glanced at the others, but everyone seemed absorbed in their conversations or their craft projects and she thought they could leave without drawing particular attention to themselves._

_'I’d be grateful if you could, thank you Babs’._

_Patsy did look up when she and Barbara moved to leave, but Delia gave her a reassuring smile and she seemed to decide there was nothing to worry about; returning to her discussion with Trixie as they slipped out into the hall._

_The office wasn’t far, and Barbara lingered until their knock was answered with a cheerful 'come in!’ from the other side of the door and then retreated back to the lounge, leaving Delia to speak to Sister Julienne in private._

_The office turned out to be a modest room with dark wood panelling and a large desk, behind which sat a motherly looking woman in the same blue habit the others wore. She smiled warmly and stood as Delia stepped cautiously inside._

_'Sister Julienne? I’m sorry to bother you, but I wondered if I might talk to you for a few minutes’._

_'Of course my dear, please, do have a seat. I’m afraid I can’t give you much more information than you have already, but I’ll tell you what I can’._

_Delia was surprised at that – whatever Sister Julienne thought she had come for, it certainly wasn’t what she had been going to ask… but she was distracted by her words and wanted suddenly very much to know what she meant._

_'Information? Information about what?’_

_'Why, about your parents of course. Isn’t that what you came to see me about?’_

_'It isn’t, but if there is anything you_ can _tell me I’d certainly be grateful to hear it. I know you spoke to the pastor of their old church about finding them, but I didn’t think you’d had any luck’._

_She found herself perching eagerly on the edge of her seat, leaning forwards slightly with a hope she knew she shouldn’t have but couldn’t resist. Of course if her parents had been found they’d have let her know already, there was no need for her heart to be pounding like this… but even so…_

_'I’m afraid you’re right, broadly speaking. He doesn’t have an address for your parents, although he’s promised to ask around within the congregation to see if anyone has their contact details. Apparently they moved away six years ago, planning to go to a town called Sutherland, which is now a part of Saskatoon I believe. We’ve made efforts to contact ministers in that area, but since we don’t have an exact location it’s an imprecise search. So far no one we’ve managed to contact has been able to help. It is possible they’ve left the area, in which case it might be a bit more complex’._

_Delia’s disappointment at the apparent hopelessness of the situation must have been evident, because Sister Julienne’s tone gentled further and she said softly:_

_'I know it must be difficult not to know where they are, or to be able to let them know what’s happened… but you mustn’t give up hope. The Lord is with you my dear, and with them too. No matter how long it takes to track them down, you will always be connected to them through Him, and He will help you to bear it.  It may take some time, but Reverend Patison in Sutherland has promised to do all he can to find them if they are in a parish near his area, or if they have been recently. And it may well be that an address for them turns up in the mean time, either with an old neighbour in Pembrokeshire or among your own things. The situation is far from hopeless. And in the meantime, I would like you to know that you can consider all of us here as your family. I know Patsy thinks of you as such, and we will all do whatever we can to support you both through this’._

_It was a few moments before Delia was able to reply, swallowing hard to try and get rid of the lump that was forming in her throat as she thought about what she’d been told. It was no different from what she’d expected, really. If there had been anything more concrete (either about her parents’ location now or the reasons behind their going in the first place) she wouldn’t have had to come looking, she’d have been told at once. And although she felt sad and disappointed at the news, she was also deeply touched that these people who hadn’t really known her all that well in the first place were willing to accept her so wholeheartedly._

_'That’s… actually what I wanted to talk to you about Sister. About Patsy that is. Trixie told us you hadn’t found anyone to replace her yet, is that still the case?’_

_'Well, yes it is. There seems to be a shortage of midwives available so close to Christmas, but we’re managing well enough. Nurse Noakes has been coming in when she can, and we can get along until someone becomes available. You mustn’t be concerned about that Miss Busby, we are all 100% on board with Patsy’s decision and it is certainly nothing we can’t handle’._

_'Oh it isn’t that I’m worried exactly. Not about that. Actually, I’m worried about Patsy. She says she’s happy, and I know she wants to take care of me, I don’t doubt that for a moment, but I can tell she misses working too. So I wondered if, now I’m getting better… that is to say, I haven’t brought this up with Patsy yet in case it isn’t a possibility, I don’t want to disappoint her. Perhaps I should have because I suppose she might say no… I don’t think she will… but I thought if I just asked you then maybe…’_

_Delia could hear herself babbling and bit her lip. She took a deep breath and tried again, getting straight to the point this time._

_'I wondered if it might be possible for Patsy to come back and work here, part time. I thought perhaps I could come along to Nonnatus house while she was working, just to stop her worrying. I don’t think she’d come if I was alone in the flat, but if I was here, where there’s usually someone around… Well I could spend time with Sister Monica Joan, we could keep an eye on each other. I could even help. I bet I could do something useful. Cleaning instruments and making up delivery packs, or helping out in the kitchen. Even scrubbing floors, once my ribs have finished healing. I wouldn’t get in the way, and I think it would be good for both of us to get out the flat more and see other people, and she doesn’t say so but I know Patsy misses her work awfully, and from what Trixie said it sounds as though you could do with the extra help, and since Patsy is already trained and knows the routines it seems the natural choice…’_

_She was doing it again, but she_ so _wanted Sister Julienne to see all the benefits of her idea that_ she _saw. It really did seem the perfect solution for everyone, but if Sister Julienne said no, that would be an end to it._

_'… What do you think?’_

_'I agree in principle that it seems a wonderful solution... but you have only been home from hospital for two weeks. Are you quite sure you're up to this? It is my understanding that this is your first time out of the flat and- forgive me for saying so my dear but you do look rather tired. I cannot in good conscience condone anything that is going to make you unwell. You need time to heal, and there is no reason why we couldn't revisit this idea. Perhaps in the new year'._

_Delia tried hard not to show her disappointment too obviously – it wouldn't help her case to sound desperate. She took a moment to sit up a little straighter, trying to make herself look as hale and healthy as possible._

_'I know this might seem a little soon. I do have some physical recovery still to go, and it might be a while before I can be really useful here. I don't want to be a burden in the meantime, but I'd make up for it once I was better, I truly would. And as to it making me unwell... it really is quite a short walk to get here, and the benefits would hugely outweigh the costs. Being around other people and places could really help with regaining my memories. Especially nurses'._

_Sister Julienne's eyes were so warm and understanding that it was like being wrapped in velvet. It was no wonder Patsy spoke so highly of her, she really was the most calming, reassuring presence she could hope for._

_'I do see your point... As you say it might well be unwise to focus solely on your physical injuries and neglect your amnesia. Perhaps it_ would _be good for you to spend some time here with us. I shall want an opinion from Doctor Turner, but as long as he has no objections... well, then I think it a wonderful idea. You would have to spend plenty of time resting while you're here of course, and it would depend on Nurse Mount's take on the matter... but I am happy for you to propose the suggestion. The extra support would certainly be welcome'._

_'Oh, Sister Julienne._ Thank _you. Truly, thank you so much! I can't say how happy I am that you agreed to take us. I... I already feel at home here. And Patsy misses work. And all of you. I can see why she does. Everyone seems so lovely'._

_Of course she still had to convince Patsy... but after seeing her reaction to coming back here she was almost certain it wouldn't take a_ lot _of convincing. Actually she suspected Sister Julienne agreed on that point. She had not missed that during the course of the conversation the Sister had gone from saying 'Patsy' to 'Nurse Mount'. They would be back within a fortnight. Sooner if Delia had her way._

_She rather wanted to jump up and hug the motherly nun, but settled instead for heartfelt thanks, and a squeeze of the hand as she departed that she hoped conveyed just how grateful she really was, for her own sake as well as Patsy’s. She wouldn’t have to feel guilty for keeping Patsy from her vocation anymore, and she would have a place to go and useful tasks to perform and people to talk to. It felt as though with this conversation she had overcome some barrier that had kept her in one place, and her life was moving forwards again. Slower perhaps, and not in the direction it had been going before her accident, but at least she was moving._

And _she’d been promised the best slice of cake at tea time. Altogether, it was shaping up to be a very good day._

 


	14. Chapter 14

In spite of her initial concerns over how tiring the walk had been for Delia, Patsy had to confess that the afternoon had been a huge success. So much so in fact that they were still there, hours after the tea things had been cleared away and the nuns dispersed about their various tasks. She, Barbara, Trixie and Delia were sprawled across the beds in what was now Trixie and Barbara's room, debating the merits of Jimmy Jones singing 'Good Timin' on the record player.

'It's certainly catchy, I rather feel like getting up and having a bit of a dance'.

Barbara was indeed shuffling her feet a little, as if they were starting to dance of their own accord and meant to drag the rest of her with them.

'Ye-es, it's lively enough and nice for getting people moving in a dance hall I suppose, but what happens- there, in that bit. It sounds like a pubescent boy's voice breaking'.

Trixie looked personally affronted by the comment and leapt in to the defend the singer at once.

'It does _not_! It's called falsetto and it's quite the thing. This song topped the charts for three weeks straight I'll have you know, so you seem to be the only one who doesn't like it. Honestly Patsy I despair of your musical taste sometimes'.

Barbara was looking between them, a slight frown of concern creasing her brow at Trixie's sharp tone, but to Patsy the rebuke felt like slipping into a well worn pair of slippers – warm and comfortable and intimately familiar _._ She suspected Trixie too was thinking about all the evenings they'd spent squabbling companionably about music, and the conversation they had shared in the kitchen not long after she'd first brought Delia home. She might have made some conciliatory comment to defuse the conversation and spare poor Barbara (ever the peace maker) her discomfort, but it was just too much fun to keep it up, and in the end she gave in to the eye roll she had been itching for since the record started.

'This from the Billy Fury fan, the man down the well himself!'

'You are _such_ a music snob Patsy'.

'And _you're_ a musical bandwagon jumper. I bet if you'd heard falsetto before it was popular you'd have found it utterly hideous'.

'Well _really_ , I-'

But at that point they were interrupted. Not by Barbara, who, while not a fan of their bickering, was at least used to it and knew it was all in fun really - but by Delia. Evidently she thought they were really fighting and had decided to distract them all before she and Trixie could fall out properly. She spoke over them in a deliberately bright voice that drowned out all opposition.

'I agree with Barbara, this is music crying out to be danced to. Come on Babs, lets show these two how it's done! Up you get Patsy, Trixie. If I can dance after being hit by a car, you lot can manage it too'.

Patsy couldn't help smiling at Delia's enthusiasm, even if it _was_ prompted by a mission of diplomacy. She really was utterly irrepressible. Already she had grabbed Barbara's hands and was dancing with her in a way that gave no hint that she was still recovering from several nasty injuries. She suspected Delia's ribs and ankle would ache like billy-o in the morning, but she fought down the urge to suggest that she should sit back down and rest them. Delia hated to be cosseted and she wasn't a fool, she knew as well as Patsy what this would cost her, but she wanted to do it anyway. Besides, it wouldn't actually set back her recovery, so long as she didn't start really flinging herself about why shouldn't she get to just have a bit of fun for a while? Finally Patsy gave in and decided to do the same. Argument forgotten, she and Trixie joined the others on their small 'dance floor'. They had to choreograph things rather carefully to avoid bumping into each other or the bedside tables in the limited space, but they made it work. From Jimmy Jones they moved on to Roy Orbison and then (just because Trixie felt the need to prove the point) a song or two of Billy Fury's.

It was during Tommy Steele's 'Little White Bull' (a record produced triumphantly by Barbara) that Trixie used the cover of Barbara and Delia singing along and exuberantly acting out the lyrics to lean in and whisper, almost too softly to hear:

'Do you want to dance with Delia? I'll find a way to switch partners subtly if you do. Just say the word'.

She tried not to, but Patsy couldn't help glancing over at where Delia was trotting around Barbara in a proud circle, pretending to be the little white bull on its victory lap around Barbara's matador. She _did_ want to dance with Delia. Of course she did. More than anything, just about. But... not like this. She swallowed hard, but managed to smile at Trixie's offer and shake her head.

'Thanks Trix, but it wouldn't be fair on her. Not when it wouldn't mean the same to her as to me. I can't use who she is now for reminders of what we used to have. It wouldn't be right'.

Trixie gave her hand a sympathetic squeeze and looked as though she wanted to say more, but the song was ending and Barbara and Delia were taking a bow before an imaginary crowd, laughing and pink cheeked as they caught the invisible roses that were apparently being flung at their feet.

'I'm thirsty after all that dancing. Whose for a drink? Delia, I expect it's a bad idea for you to mix alcohol with your medication, but you could keep me company in a Tizer while these two have something stronger if you like?'.

If they hadn't still had their arms wrapped around each other from the dancing, Patsy would have missed Trixie's slight stiffening at the suggestion.

'Actually I think I'm for Tizer as well, if your supply can stretch to it Babs. I just read an article that says alcohol wreaks havoc with the complexion and I think I've got a spot coming on already, the little blighter doesn't need any encouragement!'.

Certainly her easy tone gave no indication of anything amiss, but that tensing of the muscles combined with her unprecedented refusal of a proper drink suggested to Patsy that all was not well. In fact, she suspected she might have been so absorbed in her own problems that she hadn't noticed something rather monumental happening in Trixie's life. She would have to put that right. Trixie had been so wonderful about Patsy's secret, she deserved the same in return. But not in front of the others. Trixie still felt stiff as a board at her side, as if she was waiting for someone to make something of her refusal. Patsy knew all too well what that felt like (all those times she had casually declined a date with a perfectly eligible young man had felt just the same – always afraid that someone would see more than she was willing to reveal) and decided the best way to support Trixie just now would be to normalise the situation and divert attention from her friend as best she could.

'Tizer all round if you please Barbara. It certainly doesn't seem like the two of you need any alcohol to fuel your fun anyway. I never knew you had such a flare for performance!'

Trixie flashed her a brief, grateful look as she went to lift the needle on the record player and took up the thread of conversation.

'Yes, the two of you should be on the stage. Patsy and I were quite put to shame in that last song'.

Delia had flopped back down on what had once been Patsy's bed, evidently worn out but delighted by the activity.

'Actually I think I'd rather have liked to be an actress, in some alternate life. I'd be in all the films of course, but I'd do theatre too. I got quite into Shakespeare when Pats and I were learning his soliloquies in the hospital'.

Trixie raised her eyebrows a little in surprise.

'From Little White Bull to The Bard himself, that's quite a range! I'm sure you'd carry it off though. How about you Barbara? Are you harbouring secret dreams of Broadway? Will you be giving Judy Garland a run for her money?'

Barbara gave a dramatic shudder at the idea that almost spilt the Tizer she was pouring into mugs for them all and shook her head firmly.

'I think bedroom performances to Tommy Steele songs are my limit. I'd feel silly trying to dance on stage with hundreds of people looking at me. I'd look like a scarecrow'.

'Well that's not _necessarily_ a disadvantage. There is a scarecrow in the Wizard of Oz, you could just star alongside Judy instead of replacing her!'

'Trixie you beast! You're supposed to reassure Barbara that she _wouldn't_ look the least bit scarecrow-y on stage, not find scarecrow roles for her! Come and sit with me Babs. _I_ don't think you're a scarecrow at all'.

Patsy was surprised – but pleased – to hear Delia step in like that. It meant she was relaxed enough with the girls to feel comfortable calling Trixie a beast without worrying about propriety. She had moved almost imperceptibly from being a friendly acquaintance to really being one of the group. Whatever aches Delia might feel tomorrow would doubtless be worth it to have made proper friends with Trixie and; if the way they were now sitting companionably side by side discussing potential dramatic roles for each other was anything to go by, most particularly Barbara. She smiled a little and sipped her Tizer. It wasn't bad actually. Nicer than most alcohol really, if one was just going by taste.

She was feeling delightfully relaxed when Barbara sat up suddenly, looking crestfallen.

'Oh gosh, do you suppose we should have invited Phyllis? She must feel rather left out now I've moved rooms, what with all of us in here having a grand old time without her. Oh dear, how mean of us not to think of it!'

Barbara was looking quite distressed, and Patsy felt mingled surprise and guilt at the thought. It had never even occurred to her to wonder whether Nurse Crane might want to join them. She had nothing but respect for her as a colleague, but it was true that with the age gap she had rarely thought of her as a potential companion outside working hours. But of course Barbara had shared a room with her for months, she must know her better than the rest of them (she even called her Phyllis now!), and now she mentioned it it _did_ seem a bit unfair of them to exclude her from everything just because she was older than they were. After all, they were all the company she had here.

Once again it was Delia that stepped in to comfort Barbara first though, saying:

'I shouldn't worry that we haven't invited her so far Babs, I didn't get the impression that she was someone who'd much enjoy throwing herself around to Little White Bull anyway... But I do think it would be nice to invite her now that we've settled down a bit. I'd go and knock for her myself but I need to get my breath back after all that dancing. Would you go Pats?'

'Yes alright, if you really think she'd like to come, I don't want to bother her if she's busy'.

'Of course she'll want to, we're delightful company!'

Patsy laughed but couldn't help silently agreeing with Delia that she _was_ delightful company, especially tonight, with the shadows of pain and loss banished from her expression (if only temporarily) and a smile never far from her lips.

In spite of what Barbara had said, Patsy was half expecting Nurse Crane to scoff at the very idea that she might want to join their little group, but in fact when she made the invitation Nurse Crane looked delighted and rather touched.

'You're sure I wouldn't be too much of a mother goose for you all? I wouldn't want to spoil the fun'.

Patsy really did feel guilty when she said that. Had they really made her so unwelcome? She thought back. She supposed they had. She cringed in internal shame as she remembered the way they'd all laughed at her, the night she bought square dance tickets. Could she have heard that? What horrid little prigs they'd all been about it.

'You absolutely won't be, we'd love you to join us, truly. We're all talking about theatre and drinking Barbara's Tizer – it's not at all bad if you'd like a cup. And you're opinions would be very welcome too!'

'Well then I think I will, thank you Nurse Mount'.

'Patsy, please. We're not in uniform now!'

'Very well then. But it's Phyllis in that case'.

'Phyllis it is'.

She smiled at Nurse- at Phyllis, and they walked back down the hall to her old room together. It seemed Delia would not be the only one cementing friendships this evening.

They re-entered the room just in time to catch the end of Trixie's story about the time Fred had accidentally sold the nurses counterfeit tickets to a showing of My Fair Lady.

'I don't care how good a deal it seems, don't _ever_ buy tickets unless it's from the ticket office. It's not worth the embarrassment of being thrown out the theatre like a pack of criminals. And on Chummy's birthday too!'

Trixie glanced up a little guiltily as she saw them at the door and realised they'd heard.

'Oh Nurse Crane, I hope you don't think us too awful for buying the tickets in the first place. I know it's not really allowed, but we certainly learnt our lesson!'

Phyllis accepted Barbara's silently offered cup of Tizer with a smile of thanks and answered nonchalantly:

'Not at all. In fact in my youth I snuck into shows more than once without paying anything at all. I was quite accomplished at it actually - I was never caught once. I made up for it later with an anonymous donation to the theatre, but rest assured I had my share of fun as a girl. And you should have seen what it was like during the war. You girls are too young to have had much of a notion of it, but there were such freedoms for women, it was unheard of. It was terrible in a lot of ways of course, but even so, it was quite a time to be alive. Oh and Trixie, do call me Phyllis'.

After that the ice was broken and they all clamoured for stories of Phyllis's experiences in the war, even Patsy, for whom discussions of that era were intensely uncomfortable. But talking about the experiences of a younger but very definitely adult Phyllis Crane - nursing victims of the blitz and walking out with a dashing young pilot- felt so far removed from the discussions of wartime childhoods she usually found herself in that it felt safe.

They had all been chatting for about an hour when the phone rang and reality reasserted itself. Phyllis excused herself to take the call and for the first time Patsy wondered what time it was. It was dark out, but at this time of year it was getting dark by 4pm so that didn't mean much. Even so, she didn't much fancy the cold, dark walk back home with a Delia who must already be sore and exhausted. Would she manage it? She had struggled earlier and that had been well rested and in day light. _Why_ hadn't she thought of this earlier?

But just then Phyllis spared her further worry by poking her head back round the door and saying

'That was Mr Stenson – Margaret's waters have gone. Patsy, Delia, why don't you hop in the car and I'll drop you off at home? You're on my way anyway and it's a bit brisk out for a night time stroll'.

'Phyllis you're a brick, that would be marvellous, if you can spare the time'.

'No trouble at all, I'd be passing almost right by your flat so I might as well take you with me. I just need to get my outdoor things together, you two meet me in the hall in two minutes'.

They exchanged hasty goodbye hugs with Barbara and Trixie and promised to meet again soon, then she and Delia headed for the door. She couldn't help noticing that Delia was limping a little – the dancing had obviously taken its toll on her ankle – but she seemed in high spirits even so, though she did accept Patsy's arm when she offered it, letting her take some of her weight as they made their careful way down the stairs.

Patsy was rather alarmed when she saw the time, upside down but still easily readable on the watch pinned to Phyllis's uniform. Delia should have taken her evening tablets half an hour ago. Of course she knew logically that the extra wait was very unlikely to have any negative effects, but even so, she shouldn't have forgotten. How could she claim to still be a competent nurse if she let things slip so easily as soon as they left the flat?

Delia must have notice her distraction on the way home, because as soon as they had finished thanking Phyllis and had waved the car off down the street, she'd reached out to give her hand a concerned squeeze.

'Are you _very_ sad to be back here Pats?'

That surprised her. She had loved going to Nonnatus for the afternoon - it had felt the way she imagined other girls her age must feel when they visited their family after being away for some time. Like coming home... But was she sad to be back here? At the home she shared with the woman she loved? (even if that woman didn't know it anymore). How _could_ she be?

'Of course I'm not! It's always wonderful to see the girls, but I'm happy to be home again too. I was actually working out how late we're going to be for your next dosage. I'm afraid I rather let time get away from me, you should have had it 40 minutes ago'.

She had expected that to be reassuring, but Delia withdrew her hand at Patsy's words, looking suddenly upset; although she waited until they were inside before she said any more.

'I don't want any more of those pills Pats. I'm so tired of being sleepy all the time. They make it so hard to think. I want to be able to remember clearly and it's so much harder to focus if I'm drowsy. I think that was half the trouble on the walk over – the longer it is since the last dose the clearer my head feels and... I just don't want to go back under'.

Patsy swallowed. She saw Delia's point – it must be awful being constantly in a state of partial sedation, but even so, they were what the doctor had prescribed to help her.

'But Deels, they're anticonvulsants. It's for your seizures... if you stop taking them altogether, they might get worse, like they did in the hospital'.

'I don't care. They're _sedatives_ Pats. They aren't the same as the ones they give people with epilepsy, they're _meant_ to make me sleepy. I don't want to be sedated anymore. Please Pats. Being out and feeling human again, even just for a few hours, made me realise that I don't want to keep feeling so groggy. I want my own mind back. Whatever's left of it'.

Patsy looked down at the bottle she had already fetched from the bathroom cabinet, unsure what to do for the best as she weighed up the advice the doctors had given her against Delia's feelings on the matter.

'It's only another week until the doctor's planning to wean you off them anyway, are you sure you couldn't hold on just a little longer?'

Delia chewed her lip, looking unhappy.

'I trust you Pats. If you say I absolutely _need_ these tablets then I'll keep taking them. But if there is any way _at all_ that it can be alright for me not to have any more, even if it means a few more seizures, then I don't want them. The idea of taking any more makes me feel sick'.

Patsy had no desire to see Delia having seizures any more than absolutely necessary. She had seen plenty of people fitting, it wasn't traumatic for her the way it might be for someone who didn't know what was happening... but it was _Delia_. She hated to see her that way. Every time it happened she felt as though every organ in her body was twisting itself into knots that grew steadily tighter as she knelt beside her waiting for the convulsions to pass. But then she hated to see Delia like _this_ as well. She was looking at her with such desperate hope. At last, Patsy put the bottle down on the table.

'Alright Deels. If you really don't want them, I won't make you take them. The seizures have been getting better so I'm sure we can manage... But if it gets too much worse we might have to talk about it again. Keeping you safe is the most important thing. And I'll call Doctor Turner in the morning, just to make sure it won't do any harm... But we'll stop for now'.

Delia stepped up close and gave her a tight, deliberate hug, and Patsy knew she had made the right decision.

'How about a couple of aspirins for your ankle though? I imagine it's twinging a bit after all that?'

'Aspirin I can deal with. Yes please Pats. Would you mind bringing it into the bedroom for me? I want to get changed, then there's something I need your opinion on'.

She was looking excited now, and just a little apprehensive, as if she was worried that Patsy would disapprove of whatever it was. She was quite intrigued.

Even so, she took her time over the aspirin, giving Delia time to get changed into her pyjamas in privacy before she took it through on a tray with a glass of water, two mugs of cocoa and a plate of digestives.

'Pats, _there_ you are, I thought you must be fetching aspirin from China you took so- oh you made cocoa! You are an angel, I was just fancying something chocolatey'.

'I thought you might be. I have of course added the ungodly amount of sugar you prefer to yours'.

'It's not ungodly, it is quite the proper amount. _You_ just drink it bitter as a page torn out of Ecclesiastes'.

She laughed.

'Did Sister Monica Joan tell you that one?'

'Bother, you caught me – she said it about the tea she was given when I was next to her at the tea table and I was quite taken with the phrase. I should have known I'd never pass it off as my own! Anyway, come and sit down Pats, I want to tell you something and you must try not to be too cross with me about it. I know I didn't really have the right to meddle without talking to you first but... well, it still seems such a perfect idea'.

She sat, a little apprehensive about Delia's hedging. 'What is it? You're making me nervous!'

'You needn't be, you can still say no if you really don't want to do it... but... well, remember I went out with Barbara when everyone was in the lounge? I wanted to speak to Sister Julienne about... about you'.

She must have seen Patsy's shocked look because she hurried on:

'Nothing bad I promise Pats! I just know that you miss midwifery dreadfully, and now I'm well enough to go out and spend more time unsupervised, I thought it might be nice for you to be able to go back to work, just part time. You've told me Chummy used to work that way after she got married, so I didn't see why you shouldn't as well. But I wanted to check with Sister Julienne first to make sure it was possible and that they hadn't got someone lined up to take your place. I didn't want to get your hopes up if it wouldn't work out. But it _will_ work Pats. You can go back!'

The momentary thrill she felt at the idea settled quickly into pain as she wondered what exactly had given Delia this notion. Had she inadvertently given her the impression that she resented giving up nursing for her sake? And to such an extent that Delia was feeling as though she had to 'give her back' as it were?

'You know I left in the first place because I wanted to don't you? I do love midwifery but I- I care about you even more, and as long as you need me here this is where I want to be. I'm truly sorry if anything I've done has made you feel things are otherwise, but that's the truth of the matter. I want to be here for you'.

'And you have been. You _are_. But I'm better now. So much better. I know I'm not well enough to work a proper job myself yet, but I _am_ well enough that I don't need round the clock nursing care. Apart from the odd seizure and a bit of extra sleep it's mostly just a waiting game for my memories now. Besides, it would only be part time and if you were able to do something you loved again, something that wasn't just centred around my recovery... well, I'd feel less of a burden to you'.

Patsy could feel tears stinging the back of her throat when Delia said that, though she refused to let them gather in her eyes.

'You're _not_ a burden to me, never for a moment! I promise you're not'.

Delia's tone gentled and she reached out to give Patsy's hand a reassuring squeeze.

'I know you don't think of me that way but... well, imagine what you would feel if our positions were reversed. Wouldn't you be just a little uncomfortable with someone giving up everything for you, even once you were well enough that they didn't have to anymore?'

She hadn't thought of it that way before, but it was true that she'd hate to think someone had given up their own life for her sake, even if it didn't feel to her as though that was what she had done.

'But what about you? You couldn't just stay here all on your own. There _is_ still some risk from the seizures, especially when you aren't fully healed and it could make your existing injuries worse. What if you fell on your damaged ribs and they punctured a lung? Besides which it would be ever so lonely just sitting here by yourself for hours on end'.

'But that's exactly why this is such a good plan! I talked to Sister Julienne about that too – she's happy for me to spend the time at Nonnatus House. There'll almost always be someone not far away to help if I have a seizure, and as I keep getting stronger I can spend more of my time there doing something useful. I can make up delivery kits and sterilise instruments and keep stock. And I can help in the kitchen. When I'm tired Sister Monica Joan and I can keep each other company and out of trouble... I really want to be able to do something that feels useful to other people. It would give me less time to dwell on and get sad over all the things that are still missing in my brain, and it would give both of us a bit of social contact'.

'I suppose that does make sense. It all sounds wonderful in fact... But the walk was ever so hard on you today, I'm really not sure it's a good idea just yet'.

'That's only because I've been lying still so long, I need to get moving more anyway and it isn't far. I really think this would be good for both of us. We can do a few practice runs. Build up to the walk there over a week or so, if it would put your mind at rest'.

Patsy didn't answer for a moment, trying to consider every angle and be certain she wasn't missing anything that might put Delia at risk. Automatically she felt as though she should keep objecting, but Delia really had made a very convincing argument and she couldn't see any real reason why she should.

'Well... if you're really sure...'

'I am absolutely certain'.

'I do miss nursing'.

'I know you do'.

'...Thank you Delia'.

Delia's answering smile was radiant and she settled back against her pillow looking utterly delighted.

'Well, it's about time I got a chance to look after you back! Will you call Sister Julienne tomorrow to tell her? I know she'll be excited, she looked absolutely thrilled at the idea that you might come back, even just occasionally'.

'Alright, I'll call her. But I'm going to ask for at least a week before I start, so we can build your strength back up to the walk, and see how being off those pills effects you'.

'That's fair. You really are an excellent nurse Pats'.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can only apologise that of all chapters, THIS one is the one you get just before Christmas. I give you fair warning that it contains discussion of things that are Not Cheerful.
> 
> (but nothing bad happens to any of our girls in it, in case you were worried by that prophecy of doom haha). If I have much writing time this week I might manage another update with something fluffier before the 25th. I make no promises but I'll do my best :)

They had been sipping their cocoa in companionable silence for a few minutes when Delia spoke up again, a slightly tentative note in her voice.

'Pats... what made you decide to become a nurse?'

The tension that tried to seize her muscles at the question was as automatic as it was unwelcome. She did her best to appear unconcerned however, imitating Trixie's casual tone over the question of tizer in her reply.

'Oh you know, the usual reasons. I wanted to help people I suppose. Make a difference and so on. Why do you ask?'

Delia was frowning at her answer a little, although she still looked a bit apprehensive.

'It's just... I really liked getting to know Trixie and Barbara today, but I realised when we were talking that I know more stories about the two of them now than I do about you, and it just feels _wrong_. You say I'm your best friend, and you know me so well, and I want you to be mine too... but how can I presume to say so if I don't know anything about what made you who you are? You know, until Barbara confirmed it was true tonight I really didn't believe people thought of you as formidable, I thought it was just something you joked about... but it isn't. There's this whole side of you I've never seen and... I don't expect you to tell me _everything_ but I want to know _something_ so that I can feel like we really might have an equal friendship again one day. I really meant it when I said it was nice to have the chance to look after you for once. I don't want this to be all one sided. Otherwise you really are just my nurse and I can't bear that idea'.

It felt as though Delia had just punched her in the stomach, and not least because she was absolutely right. She had told herself she was protecting Delia by avoiding questions that might lead to the darker aspects of her past, but in fact she had just been skirting the issue automatically, the way you learnt to avoid biting on a toothache. She put down her mug and turned to look at her friend. Really, properly look at her.

She looked like Delia. That was a silly thing to think, of _course_ she looked like Delia... But she realised with a flicker of surprise that when she thought about Delia now her first image was of the girl she lived with and not of her pre-accident self. She didn't have to tell herself anymore that this was 'still her Delia' to be able to trust her.

With a deep, steadying breath Patsy began.

'You're right Delia. I'm sorry I haven't been more forthcoming, I know it hasn't been fair on you. There _is_ a reason I've avoided personal questions, but really it's more out of habit than anything at this point. I know I can trust you with this, and I will... but it's not a short explanation, and it's not very nice. If you'd rather wait until you've had some sleep, we don't have to do this now'.

'Can you bear to do it now? I know what I said but... well I didn't know what I was asking for... I don't want to ask you to do something that's going to be upsetting for you, not if you don't want to share it. That's something that has to be given freely or not at all'.

'I meant what I said, I trust you with this, and I think... I think I'm really ready to talk about it with you. But if you need some sleep...'

'No Pats. If you're ready to talk, I'm ready to listen, if you're quite certain'.

Patsy nodded and settled back against the headboard of her bed, automatically pulling a pillow into her lap to hold as she talked.

'I was born in Shanghai in 1933, but my family moved to Singapore when I was two. We were still there when the war broke out. My mother wanted to return to England as soon as it was certain, to be a part of the war effort more than anything I think. Father thought the idea ridiculous and impossibly dangerous besides. He said we were all safer where we were and the whole thing would blow over soon enough. I think mostly he said that because it was more likely to get him his own way than arguing that he didn't want to leave his business, but he also truly believed that the defences the British had put in place to protect us were impregnable and that Japanese soldiers were so vastly inferior to British ones that any attack would fail before it began. They used to argue over it dreadfully. My sister Grace and I would listen from the landing when we were supposed to be in bed... I suppose we _were_ afraid, but it was an abstract sort of fear then. Our lives had been privileged and safe and we were a wealthy family. I suppose we thought that would protect us, or maybe it was just a child's certainty in their own invincibility. Either way, we were more shocked to hear our mother raise her voice than by the words themselves. She had always considered it the height of vulgarity for ladies to shout in anger...'

Patsy broke off mid flow, embarrassed by the realisation that she was waffling on about little, unimportant things about the time before, when all Delia had actually asked was why she had become a nurse.

'Sorry, you don't need to hear all this extra detail do you? I'll keep you up all night at this rate. I can just give you the bare bones of it if you prefer. I don't... I don't talk about this much. I don't have a lot of practice on how best to separate it all out'.

Delia was sitting up properly now, looking solemn and alert, but thankfully not bored or irritated by her rambling.

'It's alright Pats. Tell it however feels natural to you. We can stay up as late as you want, or we can stop now. This is your story to tell. You're in control here. Alright?'

She wondered if Delia knew that that was exactly what she needed to hear, or if it was just instinct that told her that lack of control was the thing Patsy struggled most with. She nodded gratefully.

'Alright, in that case I'll just carry on from where I was and tell you what I can remember, I think that's easiest...

So. Father won the argument in the end. At first it seemed he had been right. Life changed a bit of course, it always does in times of war, but we were a world away from the bombing going on in England and even mother eventually agreed that for the sake of Grace and I it was best that we stayed out of things. Everyone thought that with the British military fortifications Singapore was just about the safest place in the world. When it fell at the beginning of 1942... everyone was in shock. Even the army had never considered it might happen, not really. By the time we knew what was happening it was clear we had already lost. Those last few days were... quite dreadful. No one would tell us much, we were just children and I suppose they were trying to protect us, but people were doing everything they could to get out of Singapore. We didn't go to school. We weren't even allowed to go outside, and whichever grown up was nearest would tell us sharply to hush if we ever forgot ourselves and started a noisy game, as though the Japanese soldiers might be able to hear us and take objection to laughter.

I think I still expected it all to blow over and go back to normal, even then. Or else I thought we _would_ leave, but it would be on a nice comfortable passenger ferry to somewhere safe, like the kind we'd been on for holidays before. It wasn't like that of course. When we really left it was at night, Grace and I half asleep, clutching small, hastily packed cases as we ran through the streets with our mother and a man I didn't recognise. Most of that journey is a blur to me now. The only thing I remember clearly is that in the rush Grace had left her teddy bear tangled in the sheets of her abandoned bed. She had never slept without it a day in her life and she cried for it even as we were running down to the docks because mother wouldn't let her go back for it.

I still don't know who the man was that got us out, or what made my father decide to send us once and for all when he hadn't during all those days of rumours. Or maybe he'd been trying for weeks and had only just managed to find us a place on a ship. I don't know. We were directed on board a steamship that was supposed to get us safely away. Father didn't join us. We rarely saw him anyway, so we didn't think much about it then, although I wondered about it later. The ship was absolutely packed with people, including a group of nurses who had been caring for the wounded soldiers brought to Singapore from Malaya. They must have left in even more of a hurry than we had as some of them were still in uniform. That was the first time I really took notice of nurses as people to be admired because they looked so sure of themselves and confident while everyone else seemed ready to go to pieces... I don't suppose they were any less afraid than the rest of us really, but a uniform is a great disguise, and I gravitated towards them naturally. I suppose I made rather a nuisance of myself to the poor women who were trying to find family members or get themselves settled on the ship, but at that point it was still more adventure than tragedy to me and I sat down beside a pair of nurses – a mother and daughter, so they told me; and started asking questions about their work and their uniforms and... all sorts of bothersome things. They were very kind to me, especially the daughter, Pamela. She'd only finished training the year before and I suppose she recognised some of her own youthful enthusiasm for the profession in me.

I don't know how long we were aboard the ship. It felt like forever, huddled together in the dark... but I don't think it was very long really. Just long enough for me to start to grow complacent and bored, shielded from the worst of what was going on by my mother. And then the ship stopped. It was late at night and we were down in the hold when it happened. We couldn't see what was going on up on deck so I didn't know anything was wrong at first... until I heard my mother screaming for me from across the ship. She sounded so frantic. I had never, ever heard my mother sound like that and quite honestly it scared me more than everything that had happened so far combined. My mother was always calm. _Always._ She was held up as a shining example of British stiff upper lip among the society ladies. I'd even heard people say, when they didn't know I was listening, that she hadn't made a sound throughout either of her labours, and I knew by then that _everyone_ screamed in labour. But she was screaming now. And then she was there and clinging to me, and Grace was crying so hard I could hear her wheezing a little and I was afraid she'd set off her asthma. Then the hatch banged open and there were bright lights and people were sobbing and soldiers were shouting at us in Japanese and I heard gunfire and I knew that I was about to die'.

Patsy stopped speaking again, blinking against the remembered dazzle of those lights. Without realising it she had been twisting the corner of her pillow between her hands, and now the case was covered with deep wrinkles. She tried to smooth them away but they left kinks in the linen that would probably take an iron to get out. She tugged at the fabric a little harder. For some reason it felt important to straighten it out. It was wrong, they shouldn't be there, they _shouldn't-_

Just then she felt the mattress give a little and Delia was settling beside her, her cool hand slipping into Patsy's hot one and anchoring her in the present with its undeniable solidity. Her voice was infinitely gentle, but held no hint of the shocked, sickly sweet sympathy doled out by so many well meaning friends on hearing about her past.

'Do you want to stop Pats?'

_Did_ she want to stop? She thought about it and was surprised to find she really _didn't_ want to. It wasn't easy to get the words out, especially not when she knew the worst was still to come, but she felt... safe. That was it. She really did feel safe with Delia. She didn't answer the question out loud, just shook her head and gave Delia's hand a squeeze before continuing.

'They took us somewhere, jammed tight together in covered cattle trucks. There were no toilets and no food or water except what we'd managed to bring with us, which wasn't much. None of use knew where we were going or whether we would simply be shot when we reached the other end. There was so little space that we were all packed together anyway, but even if we hadn't been I think mother and Grace and I would all have clung together just as fiercely.

That was when mother started singing to us, in the trucks when we all felt so helpless. She had such a lovely voice, I used to think it was like an angel. I'd close my eyes against the darkness and bury my face into her shoulder to try and catch the last lingering vestiges of her perfume beneath the sour smell of sea salt and sweat and fear that clung to all of us by then, and I'd let her voice drown out everything else, and then I'd be able to sleep.

After the trucks we were taken on barges to the main women's camp. It was... I can't even describe it. The overcrowding was appalling. We lived in squalid little huts with no access to medicines and near starvation rations. In the beginning I suppose it wasn't quite as bad as it got later, but we were a family used to privilege. My mother had never worked a day in her life and Grace and I hardly knew what hunger was. Quite frankly we were useless, and we were not the only ones. The camp we were kept in was women and children only, and for the first time I realised just how helpless women had been made to be in our society. No one knew how to make or maintain sanitary facilities. We had almost no doctors so our access to medical care was practically non-existent, though the nurses did what they could. The women simply didn't have the physical strength to do the work that was demanded of us, let alone the proper clothes for it. The discipline was harsh. Cruel even. We were beaten and tortured for the slightest misdemeanour, even when that was simply that the woman in question was too weak or ill to follow the commands she was given.

To begin with I thought every day that _that_ would be the day my father would come and rescue us. He had always been a distant figure, but he had also been the family's rock, he would never leave us there to starve. I didn't really understand about prisoners of war at first, so I thought we were being held because of some crime we'd supposedly committed. I thought about all the bad things I'd ever done in my life, but it still didn't seem enough. Besides, Grace was an almost painfully good child, there was no reason for _her_ to be locked up. So I was sure that any day now they would announce there had been a mistake. We'd be taken to the front gates and see my father there in his new car, smiling and holding his arms out to us. As those early days passed my fantasy changed slightly. At first I just altered it so he'd be there with great dishes of all our favourite food, and Grace's teddy, and new dresses for all of us, and he'd promise we never ever had to come back here again. But as the days turned to one week and then two I began to feel really cross with my father. Why was he taking so _long?_ I decided I would give him a good telling off when he did arrive and nothing he could do as punishment would make me stop, because Gracie was wheezing and mother was working so hard that her muscles wouldn't stop shaking even when she lay down at night, and it wasn't _right_ that he hadn't come to fetch us yet.

After a month, I knew he wasn't coming.

As the months went on things only got worse. We were given less food and the work got harder. We had to forage for weeds and grasses to eat from the jungle. Boiled banana skins became a staple. We were all so weak that disease swept through the camp like fire through a hayloft, until it seemed like almost everyone had some illness or another. I suppose that's where the nursing started.

I had kept up my friendship with Pamela from the ship, who by some miracle was still alive and ended up in the same camp as my family. She and the other nurses did their best in what we called the hospital; although it barely earned the name as we had no supplies to speak of. If the red cross ever tried to send us anything we never saw it. But in spite of our limitations, under her instruction I learnt to care for the sick and soothe the dying as best I could. Grace was three years younger than I was and she trailed after me, dabbing people's fevered foreheads with a handkerchief soaked in dirty water and burying her face in my dress when she got too afraid. In some ways I think Grace had it worst of all of us. Mother and I both had someone who was depending on us, who we could be brave for, but Grace... she didn't have a little sister who mustn't see her cry. There wasn't anything to help her stay strong.

Mother was tired all the time, and she coughed at night. It was such a dreadful sound, like something inside her was tearing loose. Sometimes I would stick my fingers in my ears in the darkness, because if I couldn't hear then I could pretend to believe it really was just a normal sort of cough. I suppose we'd been there about a year by then, although it felt like several lifetimes and I had long since stopped keeping track of time. Mother was so thin she had to tie knots in her clothes to stop them falling right off. Her hair had been cut close to her scalp to try and keep it from infesting with bugs, and the dark circles under her eyes seemed to have been drawn on with charcoal. For all that, to me she still looked like an angel, right to the end. She would still sing to us, whenever we were particularly afraid, or the hunger cramps got too bad, or we had been beaten or woken to find another woman dead in the hut. And she'd sing us to sleep at night. Lullabies and hymns and popular songs she had heard on the radio before the war. Anything that wasn't sad. I think a lot of the other women found it a comfort to hear her, not just us. She did have such a lovely voice.

When she got too weak to sing, I knew she was _really_ sick. Mother hadn't wanted to go to the hospital, but I didn't know what else to do. I fetched Pamela, and she and some of the other nurses made a sort of stretcher to carry her over on. She didn't even have the energy to cough anymore, let alone walk across the compound. Grace was too little to really understand what was happening and she kept crying for mother to sing to her so she could sleep. Mother was so brave. Even though she could barely lift her head, she got Grace and I to lie on either side of her and whispered that we needed to help her with the words, and then she hummed the melodies to us. Grace fell asleep eventually, but I didn't. I stayed awake to the very end, whispering the words along with her humming as it got softer and softer, until she wasn't humming at all anymore.

Eventually I felt her growing cool beside me and I thought... I thought it was a good sign, that the fever must have broken and she was getting better. I thought she had gone to sleep and that was why she lay so still.

And then Pamela was there. She lifted Grace up first, gently so as not to wake her. Then she came to kneel beside me. She saw I was awake and her eyes were so full of pity.

'It's time to let her go now Patience. You've done everything you can'.

I wouldn't go with her even when she tried to lift me as she had my sister. I wriggled and fought as hard as I could and told her I mustn't go, because mother would miss me when she woke up - she _needed_ to see I had stayed with her. I had to help her with the words of her song. I felt frantic but I didn't know why... or perhaps I did and I just didn't _want_ to know. I had seen plenty of people die by then, it was hardly a mystery. But I had never felt someone go cool and still right against my side before. And anyway this wasn't just anyone, it was my mother. She was invincible. She _had_ to be, because what would I do if she wasn't?

I think I was crying by then, because Pamela put her arms around me and whispered 'I'm sorry Patsy, it's too late. She's gone. I'm so sorry'.

Pamela never called me Patsy. To her I was always Patience, and I think hearing her use my nickname is what made it real. She wouldn't call me Patsy unless it was really, really real and she was trying to soften the blow. I think I might have been sick then, only there was so little in my stomach that I was mostly just dry retching. I-'

Patsy's words broke off into a sob, and she felt Delia's arms go round her, pulling her close into a tight hug. She clung to her without thought and let herself cry for a while. It had been so long since she'd allowed herself to recall the details of her mothers death. But in a strange way she felt lighter. Not less sad, but less heavy, as if until now the weight of unshed tears had been pressing down on her heart.

'It's alright Pats. You're safe. I promise you're safe, and you can stop now. You don't have to keep reliving this'.

'No, I need to finish now I've started. I want to tell it all and I'm not sure I could bring myself to get back into the middle of it if we stop now. I- I'm alright, really. I just need a moment'.

'Of course sweetheart. Whatever you need'.

She felt Delia press a handkerchief into her palm and wiped her eyes and nose with it, breathing deeply until she was sure she could speak again without her voice breaking. When she did continue, it was with Delia's arms still holding her, letting her feel the strong comfort of the present to help combat the past.

'It was just Grace and I for a while. I tried to look after her the way mother had, although we both missed her terribly and I was only ten years old, too young to really seem grown up even to a child of seven. It brought us closer than ever though. I used to tell Grace stories about what we'd do when we were grown up ladies and the war was a distant memory. I'd pick a new life for us every night. London, Paris, Florida. We would be actresses or pilots or inventors. Whatever it was I picked, we would always be together, and we would always be perfectly safe and in control. I'd spend an age describing our elaborate meals and big soft beds and all the friends and pets who would keep us company. My favourite future was being nurses and making everyone safe and happy until there was no sickness left in the world. Grace's favourite was that we'd open a flower shop and spend every day surrounded by beautiful things, and sleep in a bed of softest rose petals and sweet smelling lavender at night. I began to think that just maybe the two of us might outlast this war and live to see the other side.

But then Grace got sick.

She woke up in the night, crying because her head hurt so badly. I could feel the heat rolling off her even from where I lay, though we weren't actually touching. I didn't wait to go to the hospital with Grace as I had with mother. Mother had insisted she was fine right up until that last day, and she was the grown up, I had trusted her to know. But _I_ was Grace's grown up. I still don't know how I got her to the hospital. I tried to wake the nearest woman to help but she just groaned and pushed me away without so much as opening her eyes. Her skin felt just as hot as Grace's and I didn't dare keep stumbling round the hut in the dark shaking people. What if they were _all_ sick? I didn't want to leave Grace alone long enough to get help from elsewhere and she said she ached too much to walk, so somehow I picked her up and carried her to the hospital, all by myself. Grace was tiny – she'd always been small for her age and her growth had been stunted by malnutrition so she was hardly taller than when we'd first arrived. She had gone from being fine boned and petite to so thin that she weighed barely more than a bundle of dry kindling wrapped in rags... but then I was hardly stocky myself by then. I suppose I must have been working on pure adrenaline, because I practically ran there. Grace was all I had left and I couldn't let her die too.

When I arrived Pamela wasn't there, but there was another nurse I recognised – an Australian woman named Valerie who had looked after Grace through an asthma attack a few weeks earlier. She took Grace from my arms and examined her, feeling her forehead and examining her chest. When she pulled down the front of her dress I could see her skin was covered in livid red spots.

'I'm afraid it looks like typhus. There isn't much we can do but keep her quiet and try to keep her temperature down. She might be lucky, it's not unheard of for people to get better on there own'.

Valerie helped me find a place for her, but as soon as that was done she made to leave.

'I'm sorry, I've got a dozen other patients I need to see to. But if we settle her here you know what to do, don't you Patsy?'

I did know what to do. Grace wasn't the first person I'd seen with typhus, and honestly the 'treatment' was the same for pretty much any illness. Medicines were so rare as to be non-existent, or near as makes no difference, so all there was to do was keep people comfortable and hope they recovered. I tried not to remember that all of the people I had seen with typhus so far had died.

Grace was in the hospital for eight days, and during that time I only left her side to use the latrines and get our rations. In spite of how busy the nurses were I stopped helping with the other sick and injured women. I only had eyes for my sister. She was delirious most of the time and she couldn't get up to take herself to the toilet. I did my best to keep her clean, but there was so little to use I didn't to a good job. She started getting sores, but the nurses said to pay them no mind because Grace had bigger battles to fight and the sores would clear up when she was up and about again. No one said aloud that the when was really an if, and an if that was becoming less and less likely as my sister slipped further into the disease. She stopped eating. After a few days she began to sob continually for her teddy, asking for him over and over, and I didn't know what to do. He had been left behind in Singapore and was probably long since destroyed, or given away to some Japanese soldier's child. I felt so helpless not even to be able to do this one little thing for my sister, I just had to listen to her breath hitching with sobs that were trying to be wails, but didn't have the strength to muster up the volume for it.

Eventually, out of desperation more than inspiration, I tore out one of the few precious blank pages left in my diary and used a stub of charcoal to draw a picture of Grace's teddy, as best I could from memory. I spent an age trying to get it absolutely right while Grace slept, exhausted by her fever and her tears. When she woke up and immediately began the familiar plaintive call of 'where's teddy?' I held up the picture and said with as much confidence as I could muster in the not entirely convincing bear drawing:

'Here he is look Gracie, here's Teddy! He's going to keep you safe. No more nightmares now. I'm going to fold him up small so you can hold him in your hand, alright? He's going to look after you'.

I was crying as I folded the little scrap of paper into her hand and felt Grace grab for it with more strength than she'd shown for days. I wanted to think it was a hopeful sign, but as soon as she had the paper safe in her hand it fell back limply to her side and she seemed completely worn out even by that small effort.

She was too far gone by then to be able to keep the threads of a story straight in her mind, so I resorted to my mother's technique for quieting her instead. I pulled her onto my lap and sang mother's songs to her, although I didn't have mother's beautiful voice. We stayed like that for three days. I sang to Grace all the hours she was awake, although my throat burned and my lips cracked with the unaccustomed and constant use. But Grace didn't cry anymore. At least not the scared, desperate wails of before. Sometimes tears would leak silently down her cheeks, but she stayed curled in my lap, one hand clutching her paper teddy and the other plucking apparently unconsciously at the front of my dress. Eventually even that small movement stopped. I kept singing to Grace as her breaths came less and less frequently. When they stopped altogether I didn't tell anyone for the longest time, I just kept holding her and looking into her still little face. After an hour or two one of the nurses came over and offered to take her for a while, so I could get something to eat and drink and visit the latrine. I told her quite calmly that there was no need anymore. Grace was gone. I felt completely numb.

When at last she was lifted from my arms, she still had the teddy picture clenched so tightly in her fist that no one could prise her fingers apart to release it. At the time I had wanted it as a keepsake to remember her by, but looking back I'm glad she was buried with it. It's sentimental I know – it wasn't even the real bear, just a drawing, but I like knowing that when I tucked her in for the final time, she had her teddy to watch over her. If it couldn't be me, that was the best I could offer'.

Patsy paused to take another deep, shaky breath, but although tears were rolling unchecked down her cheeks, she didn't have to stop and cry as she had before.

'I don't think I'd have survived after Grace died if it wasn't for Pamela. I certainly didn't expect to. I kept on working in the hospital and eating what small rations were given to me, but my intention to outlast the war was gone. I didn't have anything left to survive _for_. My mother was gone, Grace was gone, and by then I was certain my father must be dead as well, or he'd have found a way to come and get me. I was completely alone in the world.

But Pamela took me into her hut and made sure I kept eating, and made me keep talking about _afterwards_. She knew I'd been planning to train as a nurse myself when we got out of there, so she began to teach me in earnest. She taught me to look for symptoms that would lead to a diagnosis, and what treatment we would give the patients in a fully equipped hospital, as well as what we were going to do for them in the circumstances we were really in. She helped me take my grief and use it as fuel for my work, and that's what kept me going for the year and a half we had to survive before the war ended and the camp was finally liberated.

We lost touch after the war. Everything was such confusion. She was taken away on the first aeroplane out of the camp with some of the other nurses. I stayed there for another day before I and several other of the surviving children were taken to a hospital in Singapore. I was there for weeks, fighting extreme malnutrition and near starvation, as well as infected ulcers and a low level fever that could easily have carried me off in my depleted state. It was as though, now it was over, my body was finally allowing itself to feel the ordeal it had been through. More than one of the children on the ward who had survived all those years in the camp died on that hospital ward.

It was during my time in the hospital that I learnt I wasn't the only surviving member of my family after all. Two weeks into my stay I woke to find my father sitting beside my bed. I didn't recognise him at first. He was thin as a rake and the thick, dark hair I remembered was thinning and grey and brittle. But more than anything else it was his eyes that were different. He looked... hollowed out, like there was nothing left inside him but empty space.

After so long dreaming he would come for me and eventually accepting his death, I don't suppose anything he could say then would have been enough. What he actually said was 'Where's your mother Patience?'

That was all. He didn't say he was happy to see me. He didn't say he loved me. He just reminded me that I had failed to bring the rest of my family out of there safely. I turned my head on my pillow and refused to speak a word to him, until eventually he left the ward. I know that wasn't fair, but I didn't feel much like being fair. I was young and traumatised, and still self-centred enough not to think about _his_ trauma, because in spite of everything I retained the childish expectation that he should be the grown up now. I had been doing it for so long and I wanted to just be little again and let someone else make things better. I _didn't_ want to break the news that mother and Grace had died, and have to deal with his grief when I still couldn't really deal with my own.

Father and I never did quite get back to normal after the war. He'd been held in Changi camp in Singapore and must have had a pretty terrible time of it himself, though he never talked about his experiences any more than I did. Once I was well enough he sent me to a Catholic boarding school in Kent and that was that. I saw him for a week or two of the school holidays every year, and although we both tried to pick up the pieces of our relationship we never really had a father-daughter bond. It was more like we were two adult acquaintances - perhaps cousins who had once shared a childhood but no longer really knew each other. During the holidays he would ask dutiful questions and I would give dutiful answers. He would attempt to give sage advise and I would nod. From the time I was 15 we would drink a glass of whiskey together in the evening and talk about sports or politics or whatever we'd read in the newspaper that day. I didn't mention that I was too young to drink the first time he poured me out a glass because it was the only way we had to bond, even on a superficial level. Besides, it had been 6 years since I actually _felt_ young.

It wasn't that he was callous. He set up an account for me and paid a generous sum into it every month from the time I started school right to the present day, although I asked him not to. Until I left nursing I never touched a penny of it – it was a point of pride not to take anything from him, although to his credit he never stopped, just in case I should ever be in need. It was the only way he had left to show affection I suppose'.

After a moment's hesitation Patsy went on, determined not to leave things on quite such a grim note.

'It isn't all bad though. In my second year away at school I received a letter from Pamela. I don't know how she tracked me down, but she did, and we wrote to each other for years. Not a regular correspondence, but we'd let the other know about big life events. I told her about my grades, being made hockey captain and my eventual acceptance to nursing college, and she told me about her marriage, and the birth of each of her children. Although we didn't ever meet in person again, and we didn't keep in regular touch, it was nice to know she was there, and that she cared'.

At last, Patsy stopped speaking. That was it. She was done. She had told the whole story, and it hadn't broken her.

Delia's arms were still around her, still holding her tight, and when it became clear that Patsy had no more to add she whispered

'Thank you for telling me Pats. Thank you for trusting me'.

Patsy found herself smiling, though the tears were still fresh on her cheeks.

'I want you to know me Deels'.

They didn't say any more. What was there to say? She was grateful that Delia didn't feel the need to fill the space between them with pointless platitudes. Instead they stayed where they were, with Delia's arms around her as the tears that didn't feel entirely a bad thing slipped silently from beneath her closed eyelids.

Eventually they both drifted into sleep, sharing their own bed in their own flat for the very first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Patsy's POW camp experiences are based on accounts from real women who lived through them, one in particular for details of things like the journey to the camp, an outline of what it was like (although I know I've only included vague details about it, what there is comes from real stories), and the attitude of people in Singapore before it fell.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully the pure, tooth rotting fluffiness of this chapter will go some way to soothing any pain the previous one may have caused. Sorry I didn't manage to get it up any earlier! Belated merry Christmas to you all :)

_Delia woke slowly, and for the first time she could remember it was without the hollow ache of loss that seemed to have taken up permanent residence in her chest. For a few moments she couldn't work out what was different; then Patsy stirred slightly in her arms and she remembered where she was and what had passed between them. She felt a little twinge of sadness at the recollection as she looked down into her friend's sleeping face, the dried salt tracks of tears still just about visible on her cheeks. She couldn't even begin to imagine what it would have felt like to be Patsy, living through a prisoner of war camp at the age of nine and trying to be brave for her dying little sister... It was so far from what little she could remember of her own quiet Pembrokeshire upbringing as to be another world. In among the sadness for her friend though, Delia couldn't help feeling deeply touched that Patsy had been willing to share all this with her. She wasn't just investing her nursing skills in the hope that one day Delia would become the person she used to know again. She genuinely thought of her as a friend_ now. _Even without their memories._

_The thought made her feel so safe and comfortable that she rather wanted to snuggle closer and go back to sleep. There were hours yet until morning and it would be so nice to keep the closeness they had formed the previous evening going, even just for a little longer. But it was chilly in the room and they had fallen asleep on top of the covers - she'd have to move if they weren't going to wake up later with hypothermia. Besides, Patsy would probably prefer her own space. It_ was _a bit of a squash lying together on the single bed, but Delia rather liked it. Perhaps it was because she felt so adrift so much of the time, it was nice to have another person beside her to remind her she wasn't alone; especially now she felt as though she really had a chance of knowing Patsy properly._

_Reluctantly Delia disentangled herself from her friend and eased off the bed, gently so as not to shake the mattress. She couldn't cover Patsy properly without moving her, but the blankets in here all seemed to be a tad too wide for the beds anyway, so instead she simply wrapped the trailing ends over her. When she was finished Patsy was positively cocooned in them, and she hoped that would do to keep her warm. She couldn't suppress a fleeting thought that she'd have been even warmer with Delia there, but dismissed it quickly. Just because_ she _apparently needed a human teddy bear to sleep soundly didn't mean that Patsy did._

_For a while her own bed felt cold and altogether too big when she climbed under the covers, but she told herself firmly that space was a good thing – it meant she could stretch out as much as she liked. Hadn't she longed for a full sized bed in the hospital, instead of that narrow cot? (She didn't really remember actually, but decided she probably had). She tried to drift back off to sleep, but all the sweet drowsiness that had come so easily lying next to Patsy had dissipated and she was wide awake. Still, sleep couldn't have gone so very far away in just the few short minutes she'd been up. She shut her eyes determinedly._

_...And opened them again. She had been lying there in the dark for... how long? It felt like at_ least _a year. Possibly several. Like those old fairy stories where someone would wake up and find a hundred years had passed them by, and everyone they knew was long since dead... no, it wouldn't do to think like that, not when that felt all too close to her own reality. Perhaps she should try counting sheep instead. That was supposed to help you nod off wasn't it? She couldn't fathom why it should though._ _They didn't seem especially sleepy animals to Delia - in fact they could be vicious brutes when they'd a mind to be, and noisy with it. Perhaps it was a Welsh thing she'd picked up in her childhood? She vaguely remembered being told once that there were more sheep than people in Wales, so perhaps it had started with Welsh people just counting the things they could see from their bedroom windows? Maybe here in London people counted pigeons instead. Or rats. There were plenty of both in the streets of Poplar, so it would be easy enough. Maybe that's why she couldn't sleep - the local wildlife was offended by her rejection of them in favour of sheep and were withholding their mathematical magic... although amidst the odd mental babbling that seemed a hallmark of lying sleeplessly in the dark, she acknowledged that she had probably brought this on herself by stopping her sedatives all at once. Her body was so used to them that it was forgetting how to stay asleep on its own._

_There were still some of the tablets in the bathroom... she_ could _take one... but that idea made her stomach twist in revulsion. The heavy, drowsy feeling they gave her was nothing like real tiredness you got after a long day. It made her feel groggy and stupid, and if she never saw another sleeping pill in her life it would still feel too soon. Besides, she didn't really_ want _to sleep. It was night time so she felt she ought, but in fact what she really wanted was to DO something. Patsy's story had left her with a burning desire to make the world better, even just in some very small way. Even just within there own home._

_She sighed irritably into the darkness and turned over to face Patsy. Maybe she was lying awake too and they could discuss the relative merits of counting sheep versus counting pigeons as a sleep aid. Or maybe it would turn out to be 2.15, and they could have a feast like the ones Patsy had mentioned from her school days. They could probably both do with thinking about happier memories after their conversation earlier. She certainly got the impression that her friend wouldn't want to talk about it anymore now the story was done. Maybe something nice and normal and silly would help them both drift off properly. For a moment she thought she was in luck – she could just make out Patsy's form across the gap between their beds, apparently tossing restlessly as she had been doing herself moments earlier._

_'Pats?'_

_She whispered as loudly as she dared, not wanting to wake her if she had made a mistake. There was no reply, but now Delia was really listening she noticed how fast and panicky Patsy's breathing seemed to be, as though she were afraid of something._

_'Patsy?'_

_When there was still no answer she slipped quietly from her own bed and went to kneel beside Patsy's. She was certainly asleep, but apparently in the midst of a nightmare, her limbs twitching slightly as though they were trying to run, her forehead sheened with sweat and her breath still hitching strangely in her chest. Delia felt a little stirring of guilt as she realised what Patsy must be reliving. Did this happen often and she had just never noticed it before? Or had telling the story for her brought everything back so much that Patsy was being forced to go through it all again in her sleep? In a gesture so automatic she might have performed it a thousand times, Delia reached out a hand to stroke her friend's hair._

_'Shh, it's alright sweetheart, you're safe. I'm here, it's just a dream. Everything's alright. You're at home in your flat in London. You're quite safe and you're not alone'._

_Patsy didn't wake, but as Delia continued to stroke her hair and whisper soothing words to her it seemed as though some of the tension left her face. Delia let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding as Patsy eased back into restful slumber. For a moment she was tempted to climb into bed beside her after all, just in case the nightmares came back. She must have felt so horribly alone in those months after Grace died, surely it would be better for her not to be alone now? But Patsy seemed peaceful, and she had looked so tired when they finished talking it seemed unfair to risk waking her, especially when Delia herself was still far too wide awake to settle down easily to sleep. She might wake Patsy with her tossing about._

_With a final glance towards the cocoon of blankets that contained her friend, she gave up on sleep and resolved to find something useful to do. Perhaps she .could dredge up some makeshift craft supplies and start making Christmas decorations. Or try and draw a picture to brighten up their dull walls. Something cheerful anyway. She gathered their cocoa mugs and tiptoed from the bedroom as quietly as she could, closing the door softly behind her. She couldn't help feeling a little like a child out of bounds after bed time, but reminded herself firmly that she was an adult in her own home, and there was no reason in the world that she shouldn't get up at 2am if she wanted to._

_Depositing the mugs in the sink, Delia remembered their earlier conversation and resolved to make Patsy try a sip of her drink next time, sugar and all. Surely once she'd tried properly sweetened cocoa she wouldn't be half as keen on that bitter brew of hers. Although it was true that Delia's own mug contained a telltale residue of undissolved sugar crystals amidst the brown paste of cocoa in the bottom which suggested there had been rather a lot of it. She rinsed it away quickly – a sort of instinct to hide the evidence of her sweet tooth even when there was no one around to disapprove that went beyond mere social convention. Such reflexive ticks made her wonder if her upbringing had been particularly strict. More than once she'd found herself looking around guiltily, or instinctively hiding her appreciation of some small indulgence as if it were something to be ashamed of. In open defiance of whoever it was that had instilled such caution in her she abandoned the cups and took a pink wafer biscuit out of the tin, eating it slowly and savouring every bite. Good. She didn't want to feel embarrassed about taking pleasure in small luxuries that did no one any harm. She had enjoyed the nuns' company today, but_ she _was not a nun and was under no vow of poverty._

_Wiping the last remaining crumbs from her hands, Delia looked around for a dishcloth for the mugs. She sighed a little - Patsy was fastidious about changing them regularly and as was the case now, there was rarely one ready by the sink when she went looking ('you wouldn't believe bacteria that can grow on one of these Deels, it's enough to put you off your breakfast'). The shelf over the sink where such supplies were usually kept was empty, but ever the optimist, Delia opened the cupboard door beneath the sink to see if there were any extras in there. Patsy was so organised it would be almost inconceivable for her not to have a backup supply_ somewhere; _it was simply a case of working out where_.

_Then she stared. The cupboard was full of paint pots, rollers and brushes. There were even large sheets to cover the furniture and... yes,_ overalls _for goodness sake! Had these always been in here? Surely not. She must have opened this cupboard before at some point... hadn't she? When she thought about it she couldn't be certain. It was as though some higher power (God? Did Former-Delia believe in God? She had no idea. Maybe it was Santa Claus arriving early for Christmas, or her very own version of Cinderella's fairy Godmother nudging her obscurely to some unknown 'happily ever after' with a wave of her magic wand) had heard her wish for something practical to do and had dropped the supplies here for her to find. She tried to suppress her excitement – it was probably old, dried up paint,or empty pots, or the colour that looked so pretty on the tin might turn out to be quite hideous when she opened them up. Otherwise why hadn't Patsy mentioned that she'd already bought paint when they were talking about what colour they should use for the lounge?_

_Even so she prised the lid carefully off the nearest pot to have a look, just to be certain._

_And it was perfect._

_It was a lovely, cheerful shade of yellow with just enough richness to feel warm and sunny, but not so bright as to make them feel as though they were living inside the yolk of an egg. It made her think of spring primroses and early morning sunshine on a clear day and for a moment she was utterly baffled by Patsy's failure to mention these obviously thorough preparations, sitting here all ready to get started. But the more she thought about it, the more it seemed exactly something Patsy would do. Her friend was so careful to let her make her own decisions now rather than trying to push her into fitting the mould of who she had been before the accident. It would be just like her to let Delia pick the colour anew rather than sticking to the one she had liked before, even if it meant buying two lots of paint._

_She felt a surge of affection for Patsy then, and for the first time felt almost glad that no family had come forward for her. Surely no matter how lovely they had been, they couldn't possibly be as understanding and supportive as Patience Mount._

_Without having really stopped to think about it, Delia found herself pulling out the rest of the painting supplies and getting them ready for use. She spared a brief glance at the clock and noted that it was 2.15am, but far from discouraging her from starting such a project, seeing the late hour only served to increase her resolve. 2.15am was the time Patsy had had her adventures as a schoolgirl, and as such it seemed a particularly auspicious moment to claim this place as their own. She might not have time to finish, but she could at least make a good start on the walls, so that by the time Patsy woke up the flat would look a little more like the home they had dreamt of together._

_Even yesterday Delia might not have felt able to start this painting without permission (because in spite of everything Patsy had still been as much her nurse and as her friend then), but now it felt right to take this initiative. Almost as though it had been_ meant _to happen this way._

_The overalls were rather long on her – evidently purchased with Patsy's longer legs in mind, but once she'd rolled the cuffs over a few times they did well enough. She even managed to find the package of clean dishcloths she had gone into the cupboard looking for in the first place, wedged in under the painting sheets. Delia smiled to herself as she took two and returned the rest to the cupboard. Good old reliable Patsy, as prepared for everything as a boy scout (well she_ had _been their akela, perhaps it had rubbed off on her)._

_They didn't have much furniture, so it took a surprisingly short time to prepare the lounge. She was pleased (but not altogether surprised) to discover the walls had been cleaned and maintained ready for painting. Patsy probably scrubbed them afresh every week, when Delia was sleeping. That meant all that was left was the fun bit._

_Still, she dithered for a few moments, standing brush in hand staring at the blank expanse of the wall. Somehow it felt such a big thing, making that first mark. It was like she was wiping out all the old, bad memories the flat held of those first difficult days of recovery and starting fresh, and it didn't seem something to do thoughtlessly. It was the end of an era, albeit not a very nice one, and such things deserved a moment's pause in recognition._

_Although now she was really thinking about it she realised that wasn't the only reason she was holding back. There was also a small, nagging memory tickling the back of her mind that was making her hesitation difficult to overcome. What was it?_

_She closed her eyes and ran a hand over the smooth surface of the wall, letting the smell of the paint take her back... yes. A woman with dark hair and a stern frown gesticulating at a clumsily painted on wall furiously, while Delia herself tried to hide the incriminating paintbrush behind her back. She had been utterly dismayed to find herself in trouble – she had thought she was_ helping _by painting the wall, they had been saying... someone had been saying... that that old wall paper was worn out and needed brightening up. She'd meant to save them a job. And it had been hard work too, painting the wall in big boring strokes with her little paint brush, instead of drawing cats and people and flowers like she'd really wanted to._

_And then this woman had appeared in the doorway and started shouting at her. Could that be... was the woman her mother? She had thought she'd recognise her at once when the memories came back, but now the moment had arrived she couldn't be certain one way or the other; except that it seemed more logical for it to be her than anyone else. What she_ did _know was that she had been given a bucket of water and a scrubbing brush and made to scrub the walls clean before the paint dried fully, although judging by her low to the ground perspective she couldn't have been more than three or four in the memory. The brush had been too big for her small hands and she'd kept dropping it, made clumsier still by the chilly water in the bucket. Her mother (or not her mother?) hadn't even added a bit of hot water from the kettle to take the chill off, and her hands had been blue from more than just paint by the time she was done._

_Delia flexed the phantom ache from her fingers and returned her attention to the task at hand. Somehow knowing what the memory was took the power from it, and feeling no further qualms about what she was doing, Delia dipped her paint brush into the pot and made a bold stroke on the dingy wall, as high as she could reach. It looked lovely, and the contrast with the old paper was quite dramatic. Enjoying herself, she made another stroke. Quite by chance the two lines dipped diagonally into an arrow shape, so it felt only natural to finish them off and turn the whole thing into a heart, although she had to go up on tiptoes to round it off._

_Then Delia had an idea. She wanted to paint the room to make it really theirs, so what was to stop her from painting_ them _? She'd go over everything with the roller afterwards anyway, so no one would ever know, but_ she _would know it was there. Even if they one day left this place. Even if they went their separate ways and got married (Delia found herself shying away from that idea instinctively. She had only just really found Patsy, she couldn't bear the idea of their friendship being stretched apart like that for the sake of husbands)... whatever happened, she would know that this was always_ their _home first, whoever else might one day live here._

_She painted Patsy first, as large as she could in the space beneath the heart. She was no artist, but she used the smallest brush she could find and added as much detail as possible, painting in Patsy's characteristic beehive hairstyle and dressing her in the slacks she favoured. She painted the face with painstaking care, although there was no way she could do justice to Patsy's appearance with nothing but a thickish brush and yellow paint. But then she didn't suppose anyone could even_ with _the proper tools. Patsy was too pretty for that. At last she decided it was as good as it was going to get and moved on to painting her own likeness. A smaller figure with a thick fringe and a yellow dress... that sounded silly – it was yellow paint,_ everything _was yellow. But even when she imagined in the right colours for her portraits, the dress remained yellow. She had painted the figures rather closer together than she'd meant to so there was no room to paint in her arm properly. She paused, frowning at the wall. Had she ruined it? It was silly to mind when she was only going to cover it all up anyway, but even so... Then, with a flash of inspiration she painted in the arm, wrapped around Patsy's shoulders in a companionable hug. Perfect! With a flourish she signed their names beneath their painted counterparts. Not their full names, but simply 'Pats' and 'Deels' – the names no one seemed to use for them but each other._

_The rest of the wall seemed rather empty when the picture was done. She gazed around the room for inspiration, although there wasn't much to see. She had painted what she wanted to be_ in _the flat (her and Patsy, happy and together). Now, how about what she wanted the flat itself to be?_

_Well, that was easy enough. She lifted the brush and began to write carefully in the blank spaces:_

_'Home'_  
'Safe'  
'Ours'

_On and on until the words started blurring into each other and the painted Patsy and Delia seemed to be in the midst of a bright snow fall of letters. Now this wall would be like her memory book, only instead of recording things that had happened that she wanted to remember, it would be filled with all the things she wanted to be_ able _to remember, once they had had a chance to come true. Maybe having them recorded, even somewhere that would soon be painted over, would anchor them somehow and make them an intrinsic part of the flat. Even if not, it made for rather a pretty effect on the wall._

_Delia smiled to herself, entirely satisfied with her idea as she turned to pick up the roller. She had been indulging her artistic whim for almost an hour now though, and Patsy was an early riser. She would have to get down to some proper painting if she wanted to have a hope of getting the room done before then._

_She was working as quietly as she could, one of the spare painting sheets rolled up against the crack of the bedroom door to keep the light from waking Patsy; but for all her caution she couldn't keep herself from half singing, half humming snatches of songs under her breath as she got to work on the other walls._

_'Once upon a time there was a little white bull hmmhmm hmm hmm...'_

_'I heard a song in a taxi, doo bee doo bee doo doo...'_

_She worked steadily around the room, leaving the wall she had decorated for last. She had finished the lower halves, working carefully along the edge of the skirting boards and around the doors with the smallest brush and covering the rest in large, satisfying strokes with the roller. It was lucky she hadn't had one as a little girl or she'd probably still be there trying to scrub her mother's walls clean even now._

_Once she had done as high as she could reach from the floor she had been about to get a sheet-covered chair to stand on for the rest, when she heard Patsy's cautious tone giving a warning in her head. She had promised to be careful if she came off her seizure medication, and it was true that they weren't sure how badly withdrawing from it would effect her. It would feel like a betrayal of trust to take such a foolish risk as perching on a chair for an extended period of time when Patsy wasn't even awake to catch her if she did get to difficulty. Besides which she really_ didn't _want to end up with a punctured lung from falling hard on her damaged ribs. She felt rather disappointed that she wouldn't be able to get the room completely finished to surprise Patsy with, but it wasn't worth the risk. She would just paint over the decorated wall and then she would call it a night..._

_In a minute. She had been working rather vigorously for a while now, trying to get the walls finished quickly so she would beat the dawn, and now she'd stopped for a moment the tiredness that had been so elusive earlier was finally catching up to her. She suppressed a yawn and rubbed her stinging eyes with the least paint smeared part of her arm. Maybe she would sit down, just for a moment, and look at what she'd done so far. It would let her get her breath back and act as inspiration to finish the job._

_The room really did look much nicer, even unfinished as it was. Delia found her eyes drawn back to the painting of herself and Patsy standing arm in arm beneath a large yellow heart. She couldn't help smiling at their clumsy painted selves. Now she saw the whole scene it looked rather like an odd sort of wedding picture - with the heart above them, Patsy in her slacks and Delia with her long dress and the loose hair around her shoulders like a veil. All the words she had painted seemed for a moment like a storm of confetti being thrown over the newly weds, showering them with promises for their life together... It was a queer fancy, but she found she rather liked the picture even so. In spite of her limited painting ability and the unintentionally matrimonial appearance she decided it_ felt _like them, and she was glad it would be there, even if only she would ever know it._

_Her eyes felt heavy now, and her head was aching a little with the need for sleep. She curled up on the floor, head pillowed on her arms, and allowed her leaden eyelids to close... Just for a couple of minutes._


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In honour of new years eve, have an early chapter!  
> Comments are an easy and certain way to make mine a happy one :)

Pale morning sunshine filtered through the half drawn curtains, waking Patsy as it fell across her pillow to touch her eyelids. She blinked in confusion for a moment – it had been so long since she'd slept right through the night without nightmares that the light was unexpected. She had to admit that she felt unusually well rested though. For the first time since Delia had been hurt, she couldn't remember waking up with nightmares once in the night, in spite of reliving the camp memories so vividly before they'd gone to sleep. Then she remembered. She had fallen asleep with Delia's arms still around her.

Could that really be all there was to it? It seemed a laughably simple and yet devastatingly unreachable means of keeping the nightmares at bay. It wasn't as though she could ask Delia to spend every night in her bed. Just because it helped _her_ to sleep, that didn't mean it would work both ways... and besides, that wasn't a normal thing to ask a pal was it? Not when one had the means to do otherwise, and there were undeniably two beds available.

Patsy gave a little sigh and sat up at last, resigned to the fact that she would have to continue using coffee as a replacement for the sleep she lost every night. At least this time she was an adult and free to drink stimulants as much as she pleased. When she had had the nightmares at school she had to pinch herself through classes to keep awake, and fill her stomach with cold water to try and shock her system from its sleep deprived stupor. Caffeine really was more effective. As she sat, her blankets parted down the middle and fell away from her, and she realised that Delia must have swaddled them round her at some point in the night, rather than wake her to get into bed properly. Which meant she had got up and returned to her own bed. It was silly to feel disappointed by that – of _course_ she'd rather have her own space, especially if all that activity had caught up to her and her ribs and ankle were aching.

She glanced across at where Delia was sleeping - only to discover that she _wasn't_ sleeping. The bed was empty. That was surprising; after their busy afternoon and staying up talking she'd thought Delia would sleep in today, but instead her covers were rumpled and tossed aside, the pillow dangling half off the edge of the mattress as though she had been restlessly fighting with her bedding in the night.

Then she remembered the abandoned sedatives and it made sense. It should have occurred to her that Delia would be restless without them. If she'd thought about it perhaps she could have stayed up with her, played a game - she was quite used to getting by without sleep after all. Still, there was no point in dwelling on it. Pausing only to put on her dressing gown and slippers, Patsy made her way to the kitchen to find Delia and see about breakfast.

The door moved reluctantly as she pushed it, as though something were behind it. It wasn't heavy enough to be a person lying there so she didn't feel especially anxious about Delia, just mystified at what she could possibly be up to. Then she stood still, fixated in the doorway, staring around her in stupefaction. The walls that only yesterday had been a dingy, faded greenish colour were now a cheerful shade of yellow, just as they had imagined it should be. And... her heart almost stopped as she took in what had been drawn on the far wall. There they both were, in Delia's simple but expressive style; the painted Delia with her arm around Patsy's shoulder and a big smile on her face as they stood beneath a large heart.

Could this... could this possibly be Delia's way of telling her she remembered them? She didn't want to think it, it was too fragile, too likely to end in disappointment... but in that moment of dizzy excitement she couldn't think of any other explanation. She knew she shouldn't wake Delia now - with all this painting she couldn't have been asleep more than an hour and she must be exhausted... but it couldn't wait. If she remembered then Delia wouldn't want her to delay, and if she didn't... well if she didn't she would still be better off going to bed. She must be freezing.

Even so she looked absurdly touching, lying there fast asleep in a nest of dust sheets with a dishcloth tied around her head to keep the paint out her hair. One leg of the overalls had come unrolled so that only the tips of her bare toes peeked out the end. Delia never remembered to wear her slippers.

Without knowing quite how she got there, Patsy was kneeling beside her, already reaching to caress a paint-smudged cheek. Her hand was close enough to feel the slightest warmth from Delia's skin when caution stilled her. She touched her shoulder gently instead, giving no indication of how hard the blood was pulsing through her veins in the movement.

Delia came round slowly, but Patsy was watching so intently she saw the recognition in her eyes as she sat up. When she smiled and murmured _'Pats',_ the single syllable was so full of welcome and pleasure than all doubt was gone from her mind. Patsy felt tears gathering as she wrapped Delia in a tight hug.

'Oh _darling_ '.

That was all she could manage through the emotion that was overwhelming her. Delia knew. Delia knew, Delia knew, Delia _knew._

So... why wasn't she saying anything else? She had laughed in surprise when Patsy hugged her and returned the embrace readily, but she hadn't rushed to say more about regaining memories. And if she'd painted them as a couple for Patsy to find, why would she be surprised at all to be woken with a hug? Patsy felt as though ice water were trickling into her veins as she felt the brief, beautiful dream unravel around her in seconds. She sat back, trying hard to school her features into the pleasantly surprised expression one might expect after discovering nothing more than a beautifully decorated room and not being reunited with a lost love.

'Pats, I'm so glad you're here! If I'd known you'd be _this_ pleased to get out of your share of the painting I'd have made more of an effort to finish. I was a bit worried you might mind me not checking the colour with you... I hope that paint wasn't under the sink because you didn't like it. But when I found it last night it just seemed so _perfect_ and right, I couldn't resist getting started. And then last night I had a dream... I know _exactly_ what this room is supposed to look like, right down to the curtains and the china pattern! I'm so excited to make it really look like home, it's going to be so lovely! If you agree of course. We can change anything you don't like. It has to be your home too'.

In spite of the sick disappointment squeezing her heart, there was still a tiny, stubborn spark of hope that refused to die without absolute final proof that she had jumped to the wrong conclusion. Maybe Delia was just nervous about coming to the point. Her look of flushed, bright eyed excitement might not just be for the soft furnishings after all...

'That's- that's great Deels. I'm sure your ideas are perfect. Do you... did you remember anything else in that dream? Did you see us talking about how to decorate the room? Or anything else that happened that day?'

Even as she said it she knew it was no use. Delia's expression was cycling from confusion to elation and then settling into regret as she realised her dream might not just _be_ a dream... but that it still contained no more than colour schemes and ornaments either way. She drew her bare feet up under the dust sheet she was still half cocooned in, looking suddenly, achingly young and vulnerable as she tried to warm them. Her reply was given more to her toes than to Patsy, and in spite of the chill that came with that last small hopeful spark being snuffed out there was somehow still space in her chest for a pang of sorrow that came simply from having been the cause of this change in Delia. Surrounded by the white dust sheets as she was, Patsy was horribly reminded of the first time she had seen her in the hospital after the accident. She had looked like this then. So aware of something lost and yet with no idea what it was or how to regain it. She couldn't believe that a moment ago she had still been thinking of herself. So much so that she had done _this_ to her best friend.

'I'm sorry Deels. I didn't mean to push you. It's wonderful news about your dream. And the fact that you _did_ dream about that is a very good sign for your other memories. But... but for now let's focus on the more immediate matter of turning this place into a home. Alright?'

She held the change of direction out like a peace offering – a silent apology for being so eager for Delia to remember something it was beyond her control to bring to the surface.

'Yes alright...but... well, I'm sorry there's nothing else... maybe I'll remember more about it as we decorate. I... I know you miss her Pats. I'm sorry I'm not her yet. I wish I was'.

'Oh _Delia_... is that really what you think? That I'm just waiting for you to turn into someone I knew before? It's not true. Not in the slightest. I'm so sorry I've made you feel that way. I don't think of you as two different people, you're the same as you always were. Yes, sometimes I am sad that you don't remember all we shared before, but most of the time I just enjoy being in your company. I'd still want you for my best friend if all we had was now. You're not a different person. You're not a _lesser_ person because of what you've been through. Please believe that'.

There was a time when Patsy would have held back, either through her own fear or because of a misplaced belief that it was more respectful to a Delia who didn't remember her to do so, but now she had no such qualms. She and Delia knew each other well enough in this new version of their friendship that to hold back would be doing exactly as Delia accused and thinking of her as a sort of Delia-in-waiting and not a friend in her own right. She reached out and drew Delia gently into her arms, holding her close as she buried her face against Patsy's shoulder and held onto her tightly. Even through the layers of fabric between them, she could feel how cold her friend was. When at last they broke apart she took off her own dressing gown and wrapped it around Delia's shoulders.

'Why don't you tell me more about your ideas for this room?'

She could see Delia was making a conscious decision to put aside thoughts of the things she couldn't remember and find a way back into her earlier excitement, but after a brief struggle she seemed genuinely engaged again.

'Do you have paper? And coloured pencils? I could draw it for you'.

'Paper yes, but I'm afraid we're a bit lacking in the coloured pencil department. I've got three or four that I used to use to colour code my lecture notes, but that's it I'm afraid'.

'You _colour coded_ your lecture notes?'

'What's wrong with that? It makes it easier to find the bit you're looking for, and it makes the notes look nice!'

'Nothing, nothing's wrong with it! I just didn't realise you were such a swot'.

The comment was accompanied by Delia's particularly impish smile that managed to be fond and teasing at the same time, and Patsy knew she was forgiven.

'Well in that case maybe you won't want to use my pencils'.

'Maybe I won't. Your swottiness might rub off on me...'

'Cheek!'

'It's alright, I like swots. At least this one. And if I can paint a mural entirely in yellow then I suppose I can improvise with three or four coloured pencils for the rest of the room. Speaking of which...'

Delia glanced over at the unfinished wall, her cheeks pinking slightly as she seemed to take in what she'd painted.

'I'm sorry, I know it's a bit childish to draw on the wall like that. I made the first couple of strokes randomly, just to get started, but then they looked so much like the point of a heart that I couldn't help finishing it off... and then of course I got so into the drawing I kept going. It's funny the things you think of when it's very late at night, but at the time it seemed like painting the picture and writing out my hopes on the wall might work as a magic charm and make them _part_ of the flat. So that no matter what happens in the future – even if I lost my memory all over again – these things would be safe under the paint. Like a secret promise'.

'A secret promise. I like that. I'm glad I got to see your artwork before you painted over it... And this way we can finish it together'.

Patsy could tell her smile was slightly melancholy as she replied, but it was the best she could manage under the circumstances, and was almost entirely genuine. Delia's explanation might not be the one she had foolishly allowed herself to believe in, but it was sweet and happy, and contained the smallest kernel of a suggestion that on some subconscious level she _did_ remember them. Maybe one day it really would return, but until then she could imagine it was there beneath the surface, like a portrait hidden beneath a layer of yellow paint.

'That would be nice. And you can do the high bits for me, Miss Beanpole. I was going to stand on a chair but then the 'falling and puncturing a lung on my own in the middle of the night' scenario occurred to me and I thought it would be better to utilise your natural advantage'.

'I'm glad you did. Although it seems you self-care plan didn't stretch to slippers, you must be freezing'.

'Well, it's a little brisk. I'm not that cold'.

'Deels, your toes are blue. And you can't have had much sleep if you were up all night painting... tell you what, why don't you go and get into bed for a bit, and I'll bring you a hot water bottle and some tea and toast? And some aspirin, your ankle's looking a bit swollen'.

Delia had been halfway through an enormous yawn when Patsy started speaking, but at the suggestion that she should go back to bed she swallowed it as best she could, clenching her teeth in a hideous grimace to keep her mouth from opening. As soon as she could speak again she protested:

'I don't need to go to bed. I wanted to go shopping for furnishings, and finish the painting. And have another go at a walk and-'

Whatever else she had been planning was cut off as another huge yawn threatened to dislocate her jaw, and when it passed she looked sheepish.

'But I suppose maybe a _little_ nap wouldn't hurt'.

She tried to stand, but fell back with a little yelp of pain as she put pressure on her overtaxed injuries. She really had been putting them under a lot more strain than they were used to, and this morning they were sore and inflamed. Delia prodded dubiously at her ribs, wondering aloud if a couple of hours on a soft mattress would be enough to make them settle down so she could get on and do things. Patsy was beginning to see just how much the sedatives had been suppressing Delia's natural impatient exuberance, and she rather wondered how they were going to manage until her physical injuries were healed enough to make a more active lifestyle viable.

In the end they gave up on going all the way to the bedroom, and Patsy half supported, half lifted Delia into the reclining arm chair. The heater was in this room anyway, so she could make it warmer than the bedroom; and once the chair was reclined and Delia covered with several blankets, it made a rather cosy resting place. In fact, by the time the kettle was boiled for the hot water bottle she was already asleep, her ankle elevated with the pillows from Patsy's bed while her own were tucked beneath her head.

Patsy slipped the hot water bottle in under the blankets anyway, and left the aspirin with a glass of water within reach. Only when she was certain that she had done everything she could to make Delia comfortable did Patsy allow herself to acknowledge the pain still clawing at her chest.

Alone in the bathroom, bath taps running to mask the sound, Patsy sank to the cold tiled floor and let the tears come. She couldn't believe she had jumped to conclusions like that. After everything. All this time convincing herself that she wouldn't burden Delia with these expectations... it wasn't fair to keep hoping for something she might never be able to give. It wasn't fair to hold out for what they used to be rather than just being happy with the way their friendship was now. It wasn't fair that Delia had been so badly hurt just when they were about to be happy. It wasn't fair that the people she loved most always, always got taken away from her. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair. It wasn't _fair._

But then when was life ever fair? This was nothing compared to what Delia was going through. And she really had meant it when she told her friend that she cared about her just as deeply in her own right. It was just... getting to hold her last night had felt so safe, so _right_ that the idea that it might never happen again...

With an effort Patsy managed to swallow down the emotion that was still trying to choke out of her. She was done with crying, and she was most definitely done with 'it's not fair'. At least she got to stay with Delia. If her parents had been available who knew what might have happened? Delia might have been packed off to Wales (or worse, Canada) without her able so much as to pay a visit, or call and find out how she was getting on. That idea was too horrible to contemplate, and Patsy pushed it aside as she got up to see to the bath. Her hands shook a little as she turned off the taps and eased into the warm water, but she had to admit that she felt better once she had scrubbed the remnants of tear tracks from her cheeks. For all anyone could tell she might now simply be flushed because of the heat.

Now she was able to think about the last 24 hours without the taint of her brief, devastating mistake, she had to admit that they had gone much better than she could have expected at this early stage. True, Delia had overtaxed herself and would need to spend at least a couple of days recovering before they tried any further outings, but she felt they had reached a definite milestone, both in her recovery and in their friendship. She had opened up about her past and it had gone well. Delia had been out and really seemed much better for the experience, mentally if not physically. She would get to be a midwife again soon, and Delia wouldn't be stuck in the flat all the time. The flat itself was well on the way to being decorated (well alright, the living room was... but she had the feeling that now they had overcome that first hurdle the rest would follow much more smoothly). And Delia had dreamt... if not actually of their conversation, at least the results of it. Really, it called for a celebration.


	18. Chapter 18

_Delia woke to the enticing scent of coffee and frying pancakes layered over the fresh paint smell of the lounge._

_'Patience Mount if you're making what I think you're making I might just have to kiss you! Or I would, if I didn't have such awful morning breath. What are the pancakes in honour of?'_

_Patsy emerged from the kitchen looking rather flushed, although that was probably due to the heat of the stove she had just been cooking on. At any rate Delia's attention was caught almost immediately by the tray in her hands. Sure enough it was loaded with a plate of crispy golden cakes slathered in Mrs B's finest blackberry jam, and a deliciously milky coffee in Delia's favourite (only slightly chipped) mug._

_'I thought you deserved something nice for all your hard work painting last night'._

_'You needn't have done that! Mind you I'm not complaining, I don't understand why people only have pancakes once a year, they're too good to keep so restricted! These are amazing Pats'._

_The pancakes were perfect – cooked in butter as Delia liked them best (even though lard was a much cheaper option), crisp and golden round the edges and deliciously fluffy in the centre._

_'Mmmm blackberry jam is the best invention. It tastes like blackberry picking in the woods and stealing bites of pie filling while the pastry cooks. Where are yours? Or are we sharing a plate? Sorry I didn't mean to hoard them all! Though it is tempting'._

_She grinned at Patsy over her loaded fork, holding it out to offer her a bite._

_'Oh I'll make some more in a minute. Or I'll just do toast for me. I want you to enjoy them'._

_'No you have to try them! Honestly Pats they're so good. Have a taste'._

_Much to Delia's delight Patsy accepted the bit of pancake, smiling at her indulgently through her mouthful._

_'This makes a change from you stealing my food at least!'_

_'Well, I like to know what I'm missing... it works both ways though, I like people I care about to taste things I taste. At least the best things, and I assure you these pancakes are the absolute best'._

_'You are very easily pleased! Which is lucky because I have no illusions that I'm much of a cook. I've spent too much time living in places that wouldn't let me anywhere near the stove if I tried'._

_'Well I'm very happy to be your trial case. Have some more, go on there's heaps'._

_In the end they shared the pancakes bite for bite, Patsy perched carefully on the arm of Delia's chair. She drew the line at sharing the coffee though ('I'm sorry Deels but no matter how hard you try you aren't going to convince me that that sweet slightly flavoured milk counts as coffee')._

_When the last pancake was eaten and the last smears of blackberry jam scooped from the plate (with a sideways glance at Patsy to check whether she was scandalised by Delia's lack of table manners), Delia got down to business._

_'Pat's... Can we go shopping today? For the flat?'_

_'That depends. Can you stand up?'_

_'Of course I can!'_

_She wasn't entirely certain that was true actually, but she did want to go out and being an invalid was just so inconvenient, if she simply refused to acknowledge it maybe it would go away. Tipping her chair back into its upright position, Delia gripped the arms as nonchalantly as she could, trying to look as though she were just levering herself up from them the way any person would and not hanging on for support. For a few seconds she remained triumphantly upright, ribs sending stabs of pain throughout her torso as though someone were kicking her there with all their might. But she was on her feet. Well, foot. But maybe Patsy wouldn't notice that._

_'Take a step Delia'._

_Drat, who was she kidding? Of course Patsy noticed. Patsy_ always _noticed. Still, maybe the throbbing in her ankle wasn't as bad as it seemed. It might not get worse when she put weight on it. With an aspirin or two she could still be fine to go out._

_She took a step, and promptly collapsed backwards with an undignified squeal of pain, though Patsy was there in an instant to help ease her down so it didn't jar her ribs too badly._

_'I'm afraid you've answered your own question better than I could have done. You're not going anywhere today and probably not tomorrow either. I know you want to be well enough all at once but it won't do you any good to push yourself too hard and exacerbate your injuries. I called Doctor Turner while you were asleep and he's agreed to see how you do off the sedatives, but_ only _if you're sensible about bed rest. You can't push it or he'll put you back on them in a heartbeat'._

_Delia pouted a little at the news, but mostly just for effect. She knew when she was beaten and the throbbing pain taking over her body was a more eloquent lecture than any Doctor Turner could have given._

_'Alright, I suppose I can just plan from my chair for now._ If _you'll bring me your swot pencils'._

_'It's a deal'._

…

_She had already started sketching decorating ideas when Patsy came in, dressed in much the same outfit Delia had worn the night before, even down to the dishcloth covering her vivid red hair. With a strange jolting feeling she put down to a slight envy of her beautiful friend, Delia noted that Patsy even looked good in paint-smeared overalls. Actually, she looked adorable, though she seemed entirely unaware of the fact as she poured paint into the roller trays and tested the chairs' sturdiness for when she'd have to climb on one to complete the top of the walls._

_'It's such a shame to cover up your artwork so soon! It seems unkind of me to just paint over it, though I don't suppose we can leave it there forever'._

_Delia snapped out of her reverie, managing to tear her eyes from Patsy and follow her friend's gaze to the scene she had drawn the night before._

_'Why don't you add something of your own to it? That way it'll feel like a joint effort, and you won't just be painting over my picture, it'll be ours'._

_'I can't draw to save my life! Besides, there isn't a lot of room left...'_

_'Add something small. Like a pet! I saw baby sloths once... I suppose it must have been at a visit to a zoo, though I don't remember the other animals. I'm not sure why slow motion cuteness is even more adorable than the regular variety, but it is. I still want one. Maybe you could draw one of those?'_

_Patsy laughed then and shook her head firmly._

_'Absolutely not. I wasn't joking when I said I can't draw. I'm not even entirely certain what a sloth looks like, if I attempted to draw one all you'd get is a yellow blob with limbs and I assure you it_ won't _be adorable'._

_She must have noticed Delia's slight look of disappointment however, because she added in a conciliatory tone:_

_'I could still paint in a pet though. How about a cat? I could probably just about stretch to painting one of those, and it would be a more practical animal to keep in London anyway'._

_'Alright then, I suppose if I can't have a sloth then a cat is a good second choice. Good idea Pats, paint us a cat!'_

_Patsy's cat was a long, graceful creature that lounged around the painted Delia's shoulder, one paw reaching out to bat playfully at Patsy's hair as though it were a ball of wool. It was a nice cat, for all Patsy claimed not to be able to draw, and Delia wondered if one day they might get one for real. She almost suggested it, but it seemed too much like saying she expected them to stay as they were forever, and she had no reason to suppose that Patsy wouldn't marry and move out eventually. Then what would become of the cat? So instead she settled for applauding the picture and assuring her friend that it was absolutely perfect._

_After that Patsy got properly stuck into painting the room, working at it with more energy than Delia had ever seen in her. She was never sluggish exactly, but until she had today for contrast, she had never realised how tired she looked most of the time. Now the dark circles that permanently hid beneath a layer of face powder were gone, and the cup of strong coffee that was usually close at hand had been replaced with a mug of tea that Patsy sipped (carefully, with a cloth round the handle to avoid getting paint on it) in between sojourns standing up on the chair to paint the border between wall and ceiling._

_Although she kept up with their animated discussion on ideas for the rest of the flat, she couldn't help thinking about what was different. Could it just be the recent visit to her friends that had made her so lively? Delia didn't think so somehow. She thought about Patsy's nightmares the night before, and how she had supposed it to be because of having relived her childhood trauma so vividly... but what if she'd been wrong? Maybe all this time Patsy had been sleeping badly and Delia had simply been too deeply sedated or (though she didn't like to think it) too self absorbed to notice. She didn't say anything about it to Patsy, but she was determined to find out one way or the other tonight._

_For now though she returned to the other matter that had been troubling her as she sketched out more and more ideas for things to fill their home with._

_'Pats, do you know where I kept my money? I've had a look through my things but I didn't find more than a few shillings that were in my purse when the accident happened... do you know if I kept savings anywhere from my wages?'_

_Patsy had been about to climb back onto the chair, brush in hand, but at Delia's question she turned to face her instead._

_'You know all the money in my father's account is yours too... Or at least I want it to be. If there's anything you need or want... I could get some money out the bank for you to keep yourself so you don't have to keep asking for things, if you like. I'm sorry Deels, I should have thought'._

_'It's alright Pats, you don't have to think of everything first. But does that mean I_ don't _have any money of my own? I know you're happy to share everything, but if I do have some money I'd really like to put it towards our home. I want to contribute'._

_She had half expected her friend to protest – after all the money was from the account her father had set up for her in lieu of a true parental bond. She knew that Patsy didn't really think of it as her own any more than Delia did... but she seemed to understand the request and take it seriously._

_'I think you did save part of your wages every week... you always said you wanted to put something by for the future, but I don't think you kept a bank account. You didn't find a box or purse or anything while you were looking through your things?'_

_'Nothing. I didn't find a lot really. Just clothes and books'._

_Patsy's eyes widened at that and she looked suddenly excited._

_'The books! Deels, have you looked in them? All of them?'_

_'What?'_

_'Have you opened your books?'_

_'Yes... well, some of them. There was a whole stack of the most appallingly dire looking paper back romance novels that I couldn't bring myself to finish reading the back covers of, let alone open. I can't imagine what I saw in them before...'_

_She was about to ask what all this was about when she remembered the washing machine manual, and a wild hope kindled inside her._

_'Oh PATSY. You- you don't think-? I found a washing machine manual full of pictures and letters and things. I never thought about the other- can you go and fetch them for me? Now? Please?'_

_She had barely finished speaking before Patsy had set down the brush and rushed to the bedroom. She was back in seconds, her arms full of the first lot of books. She made two further trips to get every likely looking ha'penny rag of a novel, stacking them all up on the table beside Delia's chair, her cheeks as flushed with excitement and nerves as she knew her own must be._

_'I'd forgotten about this, but you told me once that when you were a little girl you'd keep things hidden inside books where your parents wouldn't find them. You said it had become such a habit you still thought it the best way to keep important things safe, because no one with any taste would ever dream of opening books like this. You told me they could sit there a century and no one would find out. I can't believe I forgot about this. I don't know if there is anything here but I think there's a good chance... Should I- would you like some privacy to look through them? I can go elsewhere if you want to be alone with this'._

_'No. Please stay. I'd like you to be here. If it isn't what we think I'll need support to get me through the fact that my former self had such poor taste. And if it is... well, I want you here. If that's alright'._

_'Of course it is'._

_Patsy sat on the arm of her chair as she had this morning, and she found herself leaning into her, drawing comfort from her nearness as she picked up the first novel (the cover showed a love-lorn heroine encased in a bright pink heart, clasping her hands to her chest as she simpered sickeningly into the distance)._

_'Here goes nothing'._

_At first she thought she was going to be disappointed. The title page, contents and first few pages of chapter one were intact, concealing nothing more than tortured prose and far too many exclamation marks. But then-_

_'A ten shilling note! That's a start. Oh Pats, do you really think I kept things in all of them?'._

_'I don't know. I don't suppose they all have money in, but I do think we'll find more than just dreadful stories here'._

_Flipping through the rest of the book revealed several more notes of various denominations, along with several months worth of wage slips and a few receipts._

_'An interesting form of keeping accounts certainly, but at least that's one question solved – you do have your own money!'_

_'I do. I can get things myself. I can buy new clothes!'_

_'Oh Deels, you should have said you were short on things, I could have picked them up for you'._

_'I've just torn some stockings that's all. Seizures are a bit hard on them you know. And it took a while to get used to putting them on without pushing a nail through, they're so flimsy'._

_Delia felt herself colouring slightly as she said it. It wasn't_ exactly _a lie. She had certainly laddered about half the nylons she owned in the two weeks she'd been out of hospital... but it hadn't been what she was thinking of when she mentioned new clothes. The truth was she wanted to get new underwear. She didn't want to say so to Patsy (she couldn't have born the embarrassment of it), but ever since coming back here it had just felt so strange to put on what felt like someone else's knickers. The rest she could get used to, but no matter how clean, that was something she still wasn't quite comfortable with. To avoid further questions she reached for another book at random and opened it quickly, not quite mentally prepared for what she might find._

_Her breath caught as she saw what was on the first page. There was a photograph, but it wasn't her and Patsy this time. It was a picture of a woman with dark hair and tired eyes, smiling down at the newborn baby cradled in her arms._

_'Is this- do you think?'_

_'Yes Deels. I think that's your mother. You showed me a photograph of them once – of all of you. Your parents, your grandparents and you. She was older then though. I think this one must have been from the day you were born'._

_Delia felt tears gathering in her eyes as she looked at the face of the woman who had given birth to her and who she could barely remember. She didn't look particularly stern here, as she had in the memory of the painted wall. Actually, she was staring down into the sleeping face of the infant Delia with an expression of wonder and joy, as if she couldn't yet believe that she was responsible for making her._

_She continued turning the pages with slightly trembling hands. There were a few more photographs, although none quite like the first. There were a couple of formal family portraits taken a few years apart that included a man who could only be her father – mother, father and child posed slightly stiffly in Sunday best. Her younger self looked solemn, her hair in bunches that looked too tight for comfort, her posture rather forced as she stared at the camera. Half way through she came across a small bundle of pictures that looked much more well-handled than the rest, the edges worn and the card slightly bent, as if it might have been carried around in a pocket. They were obviously all taken at different times and in different places, but they all had one person in common. She was an old woman with softly curling hair and bright eyes that seemed to see right through you even from inside the photograph, and to be laughing at some joke that they saw there. Even when she was smiling there was a stubborn set to the mouth that made Delia like her. This was a woman that wouldn't let a little thing like amnesia stop her for long. She quickly found what had apparently been the most treasured of the photographs, worn so thin at the folds she hardly dared to handle it for fear of tearing the paper. In it the same old woman was kneeling beside herself at the age of about 6 or 7. Her hair was free of its tight bunches here and hung loose around her shoulders, and even that small detail made her look so much freer than in the pictures with her parents. The two of them were arm in arm, wearing matching nurse's outfits and grinning out at the camera so widely Delia could almost feel the warmth of their happiness radiating down the years. She turned it over, hoping for more clues, but there was just a date – May 1943._

_'Do you know who she was?'_

_Patsy took the photo from her delicately for a better look, stroking the young Delia's cheek gently with a finger that didn't quite touch the page._

_'I've seen this picture before. You used to take it with you to every exam, or whenever you had a particularly challenging day, or felt like giving it all up. The woman is your grandmother. You always said she was the one that encouraged you to follow your dream of becoming a nurse, and that having her picture with you reminded you why you were doing it. She made you that costume, modelled from the one she wore during the first war'._

_'My grandmother. She looks nice, doesn't she? Did... did you ever meet her?'_

_'No, I'm afraid not. I'm so sorry Deels, but she died during your second year of training'._

_Delia looked down at the collection of photographs spread across her lap. She wasn't really surprised – if her grandmother had been alive she'd have been found by now, she would have at least written a letter even if she was too frail to come and visit in person... but even so she was sad to know that someone who had so obviously cared about her, and who she had clearly love very deeply in return, was gone._

_'I thought she must be. I just wish I could remember her. It feels like a betrayal not to'._

_They continued through the books, unearthing more pictures and letters and bundles of cash. There were a few letters and cards from Delia's grandmother, but she put them to one side. She couldn't quite bring herself to read them yet. She had read letters from various friends, both from childhood and more recently and been delighted to get that insight into her life, but for some reason these ones were different. It felt like doing the woman who had so obviously played a huge part in forming who she was a disservice to read what she had written to the granddaughter who loved her. She wanted them to mean something to her when she read them, and even the chance that they might trigger recall was not enough to make her risk finding them meaningless._

_They were almost to the bottom of the stack when Delia found the book that would change everything. She should have anticipated it, even been looking for it, but somehow it had never occurred to her to do so._

_The first thing was a Christmas card – a holly wreath nailed to a cross, with the words 'May the Lord bless and keep you on His holy day' emblazoned above it. It was not exactly an image that brought to mind a close and loving family, and the message inside was no more encouraging:_

_'Dear Delia,_

_May the blessed baby Jesus be born in your heart this festive season. You are in our prayers._

_Merry Christmas From Mam and Dad'._

_That was all it said, and to Delia it read as more of an admonishment for something than as a heartfelt blessing. She had wondered before if there had been some sort of a rift between her and her parents that had caused them to lose touch, but seeing the card brought it home to her. It was a relief in a way to know she hadn't been completely disowned, but all the same – shouldn't there be pages of news keeping her up to date on their daily life in Canada? Where were the warm maternal enquiries about her own health and work and social life?_

_There were several cards with hardly more information than the first, all bearing the same strongly religious theme. She almost put the book aside without looking through the rest, but a spark of hope kept her searching to the end. And that was how she found it. Unlike the rest this card was still in its envelope, and on the back..._

_'Pats. There's an address'._

_Her heart was pounding as she stared at the slanted handwriting on the envelope listing the return address for Mr and Mrs H. Busby. She reached blindly for Patsy's hand and clung to it, her mind whirling. This was where they lived. After all this time searching fruitlessly through parish records and old neighbours. Of course it might be an old address, they might have moved since then, but even if they had, surely it wouldn't be too hard to find out where they'd gone from there..._

_She had been wondering and hoping to find her parents for so many weeks, and yet now she held their address in her hand she was afraid. The cards and pictures and the scant memories she had of them didn't exactly paint a rosy picture of familial bliss... but they were her parents. Surely when they heard what had happened old arguments would be put behind them. Maybe it would even help them mend their relationship._

_She could hear a strange whimpering noise coming from somewhere, and wondered distantly if a cat had managed to get in somehow and was trapped. It wasn't until Patsy moved to put her arms around her that she realised it was her. She held onto her friend, her face buried against her shoulder as she waited for the shock to subside. When at last she felt calm enough to speak she eased her grip on Patsy's shirt and asked:_

_'Do you know much about them? My parents I mean. Do you know what they were like? Were we close?'_

_Patsy looked pale and almost as anxious as Delia felt, but she answered without a tremor in her voice._

_'I'm so sorry Delia. I don't know as much as I probably should... you didn't talk about your parents very much. Partly because of how things ended before they went away, but it was also at least in part because you knew about my childhood, and that hearing about the war and the time around it was hard for me... you were trying to be sensitive. I was so much touchier about things when I was working at the London, I couldn't bear to talk about family at all. And then when I moved to Nonnatus we saw each other so much less and always in public places... We were both looking forward to having our own flat because it meant we'd be able to share more of ourselves without other people overhearing or intruding. I do know that your parents were very strict when you were growing up, and became more so as you got older. That's what made you start keeping things you wanted to be private inside books. Your mother would check your room for contraband and confiscate anything she thought you shouldn't have. They didn't approve of you becoming a nurse either, or living on your own. I don't know all the details of what happened... but in the end they made you choose. You decided to stay with your grandmother and become a nurse, and they left for Canada without you'._

_Delia nodded. It was pretty much as she had anticipated, though she had hoped it would be otherwise._

_'Maybe it'll be different now. We can start again. They might at least be able to give me some answers about my childhood'._

_'Do you want me to take the address to Sister Julienne now? She'd know who to contact to get the ball rolling on tracking them down'._

_She bit her lip. It seemed wrong for her to feel this way, but she wasn't quite ready to see her parents yet, not with all this unknown conflict between them that they would remember and she wouldn't. What if they came all this way and were disappointed in what they found? What if they didn't live up to her hopes for_ them _? She knew they had to be told about the accident, but... well, it had been this long. Waiting another day or two wouldn't hurt._

_'Not yet. I want a bit of time to get used to the idea. It's just... it's a lot to take in. Maybe tomorrow. I think I've had about as much as I can take for one day. Do you think we could just finish that last little bit of painting and see if we can find anything jolly to sing along to badly on the wireless? I think I need a dose of normality now'._

_'Of course darling. I'll put all all this away for you. We don't have to do anything until your ready'._

_She might have been projecting her own feelings, but Delia thought she detected a trace of guilty relief in Patsy's expression, reflecting her own confusion back to her as she scooped up armfuls of books and their precious cargo to put neatly away on the bedroom shelves._

_They both sang along to the medley of popular songs and Christmas carols that came on with a little too much gusto, compensating for the confusion they knew was just below the surface. Once the painting was finished and the sheets and pots cleared away they sat together and tried to play cards, but it was no use. There was just too much else to think about. Besides, the smell of paint was getting a bit much for both of them, even with the window as far open as they could bear it given the time of year. In the end, they decided on an early night._

_It wasn't until they were both washed and changed and lying in their separate beds in the dark that Delia remembered her concern for Patsy and her nightmares earlier that day. She listened hard, but her friend's breathing sounded normal and untroubled. It stayed that way for a long time, but although minutes stretch slowly into hours, Delia didn't feel sleepy. She heard Patsy's breathing slow into the even rhythm of dreamless sleep, and she wondered if she had made a mistake. Maybe the nightmares really had been a one off. She had started drifting into a doze herself when she heard the change. Patsy's breath started hitching in panic and she whimpered slightly as she struggled with her blankets, as if she was trying to run to someone but was being held back._

_She didn't hesitate. In spite of the slight ache still present in her ankle and ribs, Delia was out of bed and at Patsy's side in a second, taking her hand and stroking the hair from her sweaty forehead gently, whispering to her as she had before. She felt Patsy's hand grip hers in her sleep as her muscles shook in terror at what she was seeing._

_'Hush sweetheart, you're safe. I'm here, it's alright, you're safe'._

_As she spoke Patsy's eyes opened, although she didn't seem to be fully awake. Certainly she had never sounded so vulnerable and afraid when she spoke to Delia before._

_'Don't go. Please don't leave me'._

_She had closed her eyes again before Delia had time to respond, but she whispered an answer even so._

_'It's alright Pats, I'm not going anywhere. I won't leave you. You go back to sleep'._

_She didn't know whether Patsy heard her, but she was determined to keep her promise. Their beds were close enough together that she didn't even have to release Patsy's hand to reach across and pull some of her blankets towards her. She eased herself carefully onto her friend's bed and lay down beside her, on top of Patsy's blankets but beneath her own. She stayed awake, watching over Patsy until she was sure the nightmare was gone. Even when she did drift off to sleep, she didn't let go of the hand that still seemed to be squeezing her own in return._


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting this chapter early simply because the last one got so many lovely comments that I thought you deserved thanks, and this is pretty much the only format I have to offer them in. So all of you who regularly (or occasionally) leave reviews - thank you, you have no idea how happy you make me with them. I hope you enjoy this one!

Patsy had woken to find Delia fast asleep beside her, their hands still linked together. For a moment she thought it was a part of the dream she'd had in the night of Delia coming to soothe away her nightmares... but this didn't feel like a dream.

'Deels?'

She stirred, a smile touching her lips before she had even opened her eyes.

'Morning Pats... Oh'.

Delia seemed to remember where she was and realise some sort of explanation might be necessary as she glanced at their hands. At last she released Patsy's, though she didn't move away from her or try to get off the bed.

'I hope you don't think me too familiar. You had a nightmare again last night, and it seemed to help. You woke up at one point... or maybe you were still dreaming, but you asked me not to go and I promised I wouldn't leave you'.

Patsy could feel shame heating her cheeks. She'd thought she had been successful in keeping the nightmares to herself. They were never supposed to effect Delia. And what did she mean _again_? How long has she been sitting up with her at night without Patsy realising it?

'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you... you didn't have to do this Deels. I do appreciate it but... well, sleep is so important for your recovery. You shouldn't feel you have to stay up for me'.

'It wasn't like that at all! You're always there for me and I want to be for you too. But to be honest it helped me too. I feel.. safer, somehow, here with you. Sometimes when I sleep alone I wake up terrified for a moment, not knowing where I am and afraid that I'm lost and alone in the hospital again. When I woke up and you were there it felt... right. Familiar and comfortable, and I wasn't scared. Do you mind?'.

'Of course not sweetheart! But you can't be comfortable huddling on the edge of the bed like that'.

Delia looked shy all of a sudden, looking down at where her fingers were pleating the edge of the blanket as if it was the most interesting thing in the world.

'Well Pats... I was thinking... maybe... maybe we could push the beds together. We could make it more like one big bed, and then we'd be able to look after each other in the night'.

Patsy swallowed around the lump forming in her throat. Maybe she _was_ dreaming after all. To share a bed with Delia. To have a chance of sleeping without nightmares...But could she do it? Could she spend every night lying beside Delia and not even think about how things almost were between them? What if she woke up in the night and forgot in her half asleep state that they weren't together anymore? She couldn't stand the idea of violating Delia's trust by being too familiar and trying to cuddle up to her in the night. It might just be too hard for her to be so close in some ways but so very, very far away in others. Besides, it was too much to ask of a friend.

But... Delia had said it would help her too. She hated the idea of her lying awake with her heart pounding and palms sweating the way Patsy did every night.

She used the opportunity of Delia's determined staring at her own fingers to look at her. Her expression was earnestly hopeful and touched with vulnerability, as if she really wasn't sure whether Patsy would be offended by the suggestion.

'Are you sure Delia? You're not just saying it because you think it's what I need? Because I can manage the nightmares. You don't have to worry about me'.

'I really do mean it. I'm asking a favour as much as doing one... but really Pats, if you don't want to it's fine. It was just an idea, we can forget about it'.

'No, as long as you're really sure... I think it's a good idea. There's no point in both of us sleeping badly if we don't have to'.

Delia's smile had been so bright she could almost feel the warmth of it on her skin.

They didn't talk any more about it, but later that morning they pushed the two single beds together and remade them into one. Delia commented on how lucky it was that the beds slotted together so nicely, and the blankets were long enough to stretch across both. Patsy agreed with as much conviction as she could manage, though the truth was they had spent an age before they moved in looking for just such single beds. In the end the ones they had opted for were the sort used in hotels, that could be pushed together or pulled apart to make a room a twin or a double as the booking required. Once the sheets and blankets were in place, it was almost impossible to tell it wasn't an ordinary double bed.

That had been four days ago now. Four days of unbroken sleep and easy friendship. Four days of sharing a bed and planning for the future and being almost completely happy as they continued to make the flat into their home. Four days. That was how long she had before it all came crashing down.

Delia had asked Patsy to teach her to lead in a waltz, but the music on the wireless had changed from Strauss to some fast jazz tune about half way through the lesson. Rather than trying to find another station they had continued attempting to waltz to the new song and ended up in fits of giggles at the disastrous results. They were laughing so hard in fact that they didn't hear the first knock. The gentle rap had become a firm pounding by the time they stopped, breathless and wrapped in each other's arms, to listen.

'That's the door. I'll get it, you get your breath back Deels. It's probably just Barbara coming back for the cardigan she left here this morning'.

Patsy opened the door, still flushed and breathless from laughing. But the last of the merriment drained away as she saw who was on the doorstep. Before she could pull herself together enough to speak, Delia's voice called out:

'Isn't Babs coming in Pats? It's freezing out there!'

'It's- it's not Barbara... It's your parents'.

Delia had come bouncing through to the hall to see what the delay was, but the moment she saw the couple standing in the doorway she went completely still, her face white with shock. The envelope with their address on was still sitting in the bedroom. She had made excuses for putting it off, but Patsy got the impression that in reality Delia didn't want to contact her parents until she had at least a few more memories of their shared history. Whatever the reason though, neither one of them had been prepared for this moment.

'Mam... Dad...?'

It was more of a question than a greeting as Delia gazed from one to the other, trying to take it all in.

'You might still invite us inside. As my daughter so astutely points out, it is freezing out here'.

'Of course, I'm sorry. Please do come in'.

Mrs Busby swept past Patsy with barely a glance, her attention fixed solely on her daughter. Mr Busby spared her a brief nod on his way in, but followed his wife closely. After the tone of their Christmas and birthday cards Patsy had half expected their greeting to be a cold one, but in that moment they looked just like any other parents who had discovered their daughter had been in such a serious accident. In moments Delia was engulfed in a hug so tight it made her suck in her breath at the pressure on her ribs.

'Delia? What is it cariad? Did we hurt you?'

'It's alright, it's just my ribs are still healing, they're a bit tender'.

'Well then, what are you doing out of bed?'

Here Mrs Busby shot Patsy an accusing look.

'Aren't you supposed to be taking care of her? That's what they told us. A nurse friend was caring for our Delia. Well a fine job you're doing of it letting her gallivant about with broken ribs. Why don't you make us some tea, _I'll_ see to Delia'.

'Mam really I'm fine, it was just a twinge'.

'Nonsense, I'm getting you sat down. I'm sure the nurse can handle making tea. We've a lot to catch up on cariad. Your father's been sick with worry, haven't you Howell?

'I-'

'Of course he has, absolutely beside himself. Come on, lets get you settled'.

Delia shot Patsy a bewildered glance over her shoulder as the unstoppable force that was Mrs Busby propelled her towards the open living room door.

Unsure what else to do, Patsy did as she was told and retreated to the kitchen to put the kettle on while Mrs Busby continued to fuss over the daughter she had barely spoken to for years. She tried not to eavesdrop, but even so she overheard snippets of the conversation.

'-didn't you write to us? We had to hear it through Father Tremblay. The shame of being the last to know...'

'amnesia mam... your address...'

'all this time, all on your own...'

'...Patsy...'

She went through the motions of making tea slowly, rinsing the already clean cups and drying them off meticulously while the kettle burbled into life. She couldn't quite decide whether she was trying to give Delia and her parents time to get reacquainted or give herself time to come to terms with what had just happened.

She ought to be happy for Delia, that much was clear at least. She knew her friend had spend the past month wondering about her parents and wishing for a proper family connection, and now here they were. The mother was domineering certainly, but that could be put down to maternal protective instinct brought out by the accident, and no one could say they weren't pleased to see her. But of course it was never as simple as merely feeling what you ought to, and although she was trying hard not to admit it, their arrival was a bitter blow. She and Delia had finally settled into a comfortable routine. They'd been making plans, they might have had a future... now everything was uncertain. She didn't want to resent them, but even so she couldn't help banging the cups down a little harder than really necessary against their saucers.

At last she couldn't put it off any longer. She picked up the heavily laden tray carefully, pasting her most professional 'Nurse Mount' smile on her face before any of them saw her.

'Right then, whose for tea?'

'Ah here's the tea at last, just put it down here nurse, I'll pour'.

Mr and Mrs Busby were sitting on the sofa, with Delia in her usual place in her armchair. Patsy dithered a little in the background, unsure where to sit. If it had been Barbara and Trixie on the sofa she'd have just settled on the arm of Delia's chair, but as it was it didn't feel quite appropriate to do so. In the end she perched awkwardly on the edge of one of the straight backed chairs tucked against the wall, not quite part of the group, but not fully outside it either. She noticed that Mrs Busby only poured out three cups, though there were four on the tray.

'This is Patsy mam, we've been friends for-'

'Yes cariad that's very nice, but we'll have plenty of time for all that later. We want to hear about _you_!'

'Why don't you tell us exactly what happened Delia? Father Tremblay told us you'd been in an accident and had amnesia, but we don't really know what that means'.

Mr Busby spoke in a quiet, measured voice, pausing at the end of each sentence as if he expected his wife to cut in and finish the thought for him and seemed surprised when she did not.

'Alright... I'm afraid most of it is just what I've been told, I don't remember the time just after the accident too clearly, and nothing at all before. By all accounts I was cycling to work, and I was hit by a car. I got a few scrapes and bashes from the road – cracked a few ribs and sprained my ankle, but the worst of it was that I hit my head pretty hard. It caused the amnesia and seizures. They're getting better, but I still don't remember much of my life before the accident, and I still have fits every few days or so, though not as bad as the ones I had at first'.

'Hold on a minute, why were you cycling to work? I thought there was a home for the nurses right by the hospital? That's what you told us when you first brought up this nursing idea'.

Mrs Busby said 'nursing' in the same tone one might use to discuss prostitution – like it was something dirty and shameful, and even the idea of a girl actually choosing it as a career was both preposterous and dangerous.

'There is mam, and I did live there until recently... just before the accident Pats and I had moved in here'.

'Had you indeed?'

At that Mrs Busby fixed Patsy with a look of such furious suspicion that it made her stomach squeeze sickeningly. Her tone was icy. Surely she couldn't know? _Delia_ didn't even know... but then neither of them had been able to guess what argument had led to the rift between parents and daughter in the first place. What if Mrs Busby had suspected Delia's leanings even before she left home? If that were the case she had probably been looking for any signs of impropriety from the moment she arrived, and would have found them even if none existed. Although she wanted nothing more than to sink into the wall and disappear, Patsy couldn't leave Delia to try and handle this alone. It seemed everything she said just made things worse, and it was obvious that she couldn't work out why. At least both Patsy and Mrs Busby knew what this was really about, even if neither acknowledged it aloud.

'The nurses' home is downsizing Mrs Busby – they could no longer give accommodation to all the nurses, so they offered a living allowance to anyone willing to live elsewhere. Since Delia and I both found ourselves in need of a place to live and had similar standards when it came to things like bills and hygiene, we decided to find a place together'.

Not all of it was strictly true of course, but it was plausible, and no matter how much she disliked lying, she hated even more to see that look of pained confusion on Delia's face as her mother's scowl grew deeper with every word she had said.

At Patsy's explanation she sniffed, but turned back to her daughter and patted her hand, once again entirely shutting Patsy out of her notice.

'I still think it would have been better if you'd stayed there where the matron could keep an eye on you. But I suppose this accident is better than any lecture I could have given so we'll say no more about that now. About this amnesia though. Is it true that you don't remember anything?'.

Another glance at Patsy:

'Or any _one_?'

'I remember flashes from being a little girl, and sometimes I get the feeling that I almost know something, like when you have a word on the tip of your tongue but it just won't quite come... but for the most part no, I don't remember... I'm sorry'.

But far from being horrified, Mrs Busby looked strangely satisfied, as if she had found the silver lining to this tragedy and it was more than she had ever dreamed.

'Well never you mind cariad, your mam and dad are here to take care of you now, even if the memories don't come back. It's getting on a bit though, I do think the three of us should be making a move. We've got supper booked at the hotel, we can talk properly there, now we've had our tea and a bit of a warm through. No need to impose on the nurse any longer'.

'Gladys my dear, don't you think Delia might be more comfortable in her own bed than the hotel?'

'Nonsense, she's been this long away from her parents and she's been in an accident. It's all very well staying with the nurse when they couldn't find us but she's her family around her now and I'll not be parted from her so soon after getting her back. My Delia wouldn't hurt her mother like that. Come on now, tell me where your things are and I'll pack you an over night bag'.

'Mam, Patsy isn't just a nurse she's my friend, I-'

'If she's such a great friend she'll understand why you need to come with us. I'm sure she can manage on her own for one night. Howell, back me up'.

'Well... It would be lovely to get to spend a bit more time with you bach, but we could always-'

'There you see? Your father agrees. You needn't worry about the walk, the nurse can call us a cab'.

Delia still looked torn. She glanced helplessly at Patsy and looked for a moment like she might refuse, but then she nodded slowly.

'Alright mam, just for tonight, if it would put you and dad's minds at rest. We can have a good chat this evening and you'll see I really am alright. But I really am well enough to pack my own bag. Patsy can help me'.

'I really think it would be better-'

'Gladys, it'll be fine. The nurse here knows where all Delia's bits and bobs are better than we do, and they probably want a moment to go through the medication and whatnot. Let's just let her do her job shall we?'

Mrs Busby sniffed, but settled back onto the sofa beside her husband. For the first time all evening Patsy was glad at being consistently called 'nurse' no matter how often she or Delia attempted to correct them. At least it meant they would be allowed a few minutes alone before Delia was swept off out the door.

The moment the bedroom door was closed behind them, Delia buried her head against Patsy's shoulder, burrowing into her arms as though it were the most natural thing in the world while she finally let herself feel the shock of her parents' unexpected arrival.

'Do you want to go with them Delia? Your mother certainly knows her own mind, but if this isn't what you want I'll put my foot down for you. They seem determined to think I'm just your nurse so I'm sure I could manage it on medical grounds'.

Delia bit her lip. She looked exhausted, and more like she wanted to crawl into their bed and go to sleep than go off in a taxi with two strangers who just happened to be her parents. But after a moment she straightened up determinedly and took a deep breath.

'No, I'll go with them. It's only for the night and this could be my chance to form a proper relationship with them. In spite of everything, I've wanted that ever since the accident. I suppose it's the first thing a girl thinks of when she's scared and hurt in the hospital – wanting her mam. Even when she has no idea who her mam is. And... maybe being around them will help me remember more'.

'Alright, as long as you're sure. But get the name of the hotel before we leave and I'll phone in the morning to see how you are'.

'Thanks Pats'.

It didn't take long to pack an overnight bag, and almost before she knew what was happening, Patsy was waving Delia off as she climbed into the back of a taxi beside her mother, who was already making sniffy remarks about the state of the upholstery. Delia turned to wave to her from the window, but Mr and Mrs Busby didn't so much as glance at her through the rear-view mirror as the car pulled away.

She stood there waving even after the car had turned the corner into the next street, as if by staying in the spot where she had last seen Delia she might turn back the clock and bring her back. She was only going for the night... so why did this feel so horribly like goodbye?


	20. Chapter 20

_The cab ride seemed much longer than the 10 minute drive her new watch told her it had been, sitting squashed between her mam on one side and her dad on the other. Mam kept up a constant stream of complaints about anything and everything:_

_'These roads – I don't know how anyone can find their way round this place, it's like a maze! It's all mapped out sensibly back home, I've never seen a Canadian town this untidy'._

_'Have they even tried to fix these streets up since the war? I feel like my head's about to hit the roof with all these lumps and bumps'._

_'I'm sure the cars are smaller here – such a squash to fit the three of us in the back! And with you as skinny as a rake, I don't think that nurse has been feeding you properly cariad'._

_She fretted on and on until Delia gave up even trying to defend the streets, or the taxis, or the weather or whatever it was that came under fire next. After a while she didn't even listen anymore, letting her mother's words fall against her ears like the drumming of rain on a rooftop. Her father didn't join in the conversation either, beyond making gentle noises of acknowledgement whenever Mrs Busby seemed to require input. Mostly he kept his eyes forward and his hands folded tidily in his lap, but every couple of minutes he'd turn to smile at Delia and give her hand a little pat, as if reassuring himself that she was really there._

_In spite of their obvious concern for her, in that moment Delia felt nothing so much as tired and cold. She couldn't help wishing she was still at the flat with Patsy, getting ready for an early night in their own room and sharing a cup of cocoa before bed. No matter how many times she told herself that these people were her parents, they still felt like total strangers. She had to keep reminding herself in her head to call them mam and dad instead of Mr and Mrs Busby._

_But by then her mam was making one farewell complaint ('the price of a taxi! All of ten minutes that journey was, you'd think he'd taken us to the moon and back. The brazen cheek of it!') and leading the way into the hotel. Her dad put a supportive arm around her, as if she might not be able to walk alone. She wanted to tell him she didn't need help, but he seemed to feel such a need to do_ something _for her that she didn't quite have the heart. Besides, she was fed up of doing nothing but argue with them._

_The hotel her parents had chosen was a small one, but clean and pleasant, and her mother led them directly through to a modest dining room that was already decorated in anticipation of Christmas. There were wreaths of holly and strings of tinsel draping the walls, and an as yet undressed tree in one corner that lent the air the woodland scent of pine sap. They were the first Christmas decorations Delia had seen so far, and she admired them as they were led to a table near the fire._

_Before Delia or her father had properly settled themselves at the table, let alone discussed what to order, Mrs Busby had caught the eye of the nearest uniformed member of staff and was beckoning imperiously._

_'Waiter? We'd like to order. We'll have a selection of sandwiches, a pot of tea and scones all round, unless you have Welsh cakes... No I didn't think so. You English never do. And I'd like a slice of coconut cake with two forks for my daughter and I, we're celebrating. That'll be all, thank you'._

_She had not let the young man get a single word in before she was waving him on his way and turning to her daughter to explain._

_'You and I used to have a little tradition Delia – on a Saturday morning you'd do your weekend homework and then we'd go to the shops together. If you'd done well in school that week I'd take you for a treat before we went home. We always shared a pot of tea and a slice of coconut cake with two forks. It was our little weekly ritual – a bit of mother-daughter bonding time. I always think of that when I eat coconut cake, even now'._

_Delia's smile was genuine, almost for the first time since her parents had arrived. She was finally getting to see a side of her mother that wasn't just looking at the world around her and finding it wanting. It didn't matter that she wasn't especially fond of coconut, and would rather have had a teacake than a scone._

_'That sounds lovely mam. Will you tell me more about it? I don't remember much about being a child, and I'd love to know what I was like'._

_'Of course cariad! You were a lovely little thing. Big bright eyes and so much energy, I'd have needed a dozen pairs of hands and as many eyes to keep up with you. You were clever too, and had so many friends. Your dad and I were so proud of you'._

_Delia almost didn't say anything. She wanted to keep hold of this comfortable, confiding air between them, but at the same time her mother's assertion that they had been proud of her as a child only highlighted how badly wrong things must have gone later. She couldn't just let it pass. However much she disliked the answer, she had to know what had happened._

_'Mam... I know it might be a bit early to ask, but since you said how proud you were, I have to know... what went wrong between us, in the end?'_

_Her mother glanced from Delia to her father before answering, her hand tightening involuntarily on her napkin._

_'Oh, now, cariad. There's no need to go over old wounds. Your father and I forgave you for all that a long time ago, we were just waiting for you to see sense and come back to us. We've never stopped praying for you and waiting to bring you back into the family. You've nothing to feel guilty over anymore'._

_Her mother's tone was reassuring, even kind... but the words made Delia deeply uncomfortable. Until now she hadn't thought of the rift between them as something that was her fault, but from what her mother said she must have done something terrible. She still burned to know what had happened between them, but it felt impossible to push the point now. Instead she dipped her head over the scone she had been about to butter and tried to think of some way to change the subject gracefully. Thankfully Mrs Busby seemed equally keen to move on, launching into a story of Delia's childhood with an abruptness that belied her cheerful tone._

_'I'll never forget your sixth birthday. You were so excited the whole week beforehand I thought you'd make yourself sick. We baked your cake together on the Friday afternoon, in the shape of a daisy. That was your idea of course. I tried to convince you to have a more traditional cake, but you had your heart set on a flower so we did our best. All credit to you it looked lovely in the end. Proper petal shapes and real daisies all around the edge of the plate. Rationing was in full force by then of course so we were a bit limited, but you came up with the idea of spreading a circle of marmalade in the middle of the white icing to make the yellow centre of the flower, and told me exactly how you wanted the petals cut out. You were always so creative. I knew you'd make such a lovely mam yourself. None of the other mothers I knew were so imaginative – some of them didn't even make their own cakes, can you imagine? But you. Six years old and already you were coming up with the most lovely things. I couldn't wait to see what you'd do for your own children'._

_'Didn't it taste a bit funny with marmalade?'_

_'Oh it tasted dreadful I'm afraid, everyone but you scraped it off the top of the cake before they ate it at the party, it was a shocking waste, especially at that time. You got ever so cross that your friends were undoing your hard work and kept on munching your way through your slice with the most dreadful grimace on your face. But you finished it even so'._

_'I... I think I remember that. A little. You ate yours too. And dad. I was crying because the other children said my cake was silly and messy and tasted funny. And then... I think this was after they'd all gone home... you cut us all a slice and we ate it for tea, even though we'd already had cake that day and I wouldn't normally be allowed it twice. You both finished it all. I really thought you liked it, I felt so much better. You... you told me it was just too sophisticated a cake for the other children, but anyone grown up would love it'._

_'That's right love! You do remember'._

_'Only bits, but it helps to hear about it. Thank you mam. I wonder... Can you tell me anything about my grandmother? I found pictures of her a few days ago. I'd love to know more about her'._

_Delia leaned forward eagerly, remembering the precious bundle of photographs that had looked so well loved, all showing her grandmother smiling out at her._

_'I don't think so. We didn't get along. She was my mother, but God forgive me we had some terrible rows. In the end we didn't talk much. I'm sorry Delia but I don't like to talk about it. I think we should all go to bed now, you need an early night and your father and I are exhausted from running half way round the world after you. Come along Howell'._

_Delia jumped slightly at her mother's sudden harsh change of mood and abrupt refusal. She had said something wrong again, just when she'd thought they were doing so well. Once again she felt the rebuke sting like a slap. She needed these memories back so she could stop putting her foot in it, but even without them she couldn't leave it like this._

_'We haven't finished our tea, or the cake. Please stay mam'._

_'I'm afraid I'm not hungry anymore. You can stay and finish if you like, I'm going to bed. Are you coming Howell?'_

_Her father looked torn, glancing between them with a pained expression that suggested he was unused to going against his wife's wishes. Eventually he mumbled:_

_'I don't like to leave Delia here on her own Gladys, and it would be a shame to waste all this. You know I hate wasting food'._

_They all sat perfectly still for a few moments while her mother glared, all waiting to see which way it would go. At last she gave a sharp sniff and settled back into her place._

_'If you both insist, I suppose I won't go up all on my own. We'll finish the tea'._

_For a very long minute the only sound was the slight clink of teacups on saucers, and the faint burble of conversation from the other diners that made the contrast of their own silence all the more stark. At last Delia came up with a topic that had to be safe, because it wasn't something that involved her missing memories._

_'Mam... will you tell me about Canada? What's your home like?'_

_Mrs Busby took a careful sip of tea before answering, but by the time she had lowered the cup she was looking less severe and the anxious clenching in Delia's stomach eased a little._

_'It's a lovely little town. We've lived in a few since we first arrived, but I think we've finally found our place. It's only small – all of two hundred souls, but they're good people and very active in the church. You get to know everyone in a place that small and the neighbours all look after each other. And then there's Father Tremblay. He gives the most passionate sermons I've ever heard, you can see he really believes, not like some of the limp fish who seem to be paying lip service for the sake of whatever perks they can get from the church. He's got proper, traditional ideas about what it means to be Christian, none of that wishy washy liberal nonsense. They're looking for a new Sunday school teacher actually. A young woman from a faithful family, someone good with children...'_

_'Gladys love...'_

_'What? I'm only telling Delia what she asked. We get proper snow there cariad. Real white Christmases like you used to dream of when you were a girl. Nothing like the rain and sleet you get here. All winter children can go ice skating and sledding on the slopes outside town, and the carol service is beautiful. Father Tremblay's so welcoming too. Last year he asked us to teach a welsh carol to the church choir. Imagine! I've been a member for two years and they're always interested to hear about Wales. It went down a treat and I made Welsh cakes for them all for after the concert. Everyone agreed it made a change from the usual gingerbread!'_

_'It sounds lovely mam. I didn't know you sang'._

_'Oh yes, I always liked singing. Your father used to call me his little nightingale, back in our courting days'._

_Delia looked at her father, surprised to hear that the almost silent man beside her could ever use such a poetic turn of phrase._

_'Why dad, you old romantic! Will you tell me about how did you and mam met? I'd love to know'._

_Her father smiled warmly at her mother, a twinkle appearing in his eye that hadn't been there before._

_'Your mother decided it the first day we met'._

_'Oh Howell, really-'_

_Was mam_ blushing? _Surely not!_

_'Well you did love! You always knew your own mind, it was something I admired in you. I was learning the business of my father's draper's shop Delia, ready to take over when he retired. Your mam came in to buy some fabric'._

_'It was to make a dress for my sixteenth birthday party. I wanted everything to be perfect'._

_'That's right. We spent close to an hour discussing types of fabric and colours and patterns, I think I got down every roll and sample swatch we had at least twice over. But it was all worth it when she came back in the day of the party to show me the finished result... she looked like an angel. I was quite blown away'._

_Delia's father had said more in the last two minutes than she had heard from him since them met, and he had a misty look in his eyes as he recalled their meeting. Whatever the ins and outs of their relationship, her father was clearly still deeply besotted with his wife._

_'She came in twice a week after that, for a bit of ribbon or a button. Small things, but we'd spend half an hour chatting every time. Eventually she came right out and asked me when I was planning to take her to the pictures because her button box was quite overflowing and she couldn't wait forever. So I did at once of course. I never looked back, and I was always grateful to my dad for being discreet enough not to tell me off for shirking my duties in those early days. He had a sharp enough eye for it generally, but I think he knew even then that I'd marry her one day. And three years later, I did. It was the happiest day of my life, until you were born bach'._

_'Oh Howell, stop telling Delia such nonsense, she doesn't want to hear all this!'_

_'No it's alright mam, I think it's lovely. It's nice to know a bit more about you and dad'._

_Her mother gave her a smile that was surprisingly sweet after the pinched frown of disapproval that seemed to be her norm. After that the conversation flowed more easily, and by the time the last crumbs were eaten and the last drop of tea poured, Delia felt almost like everything would be alright between them._

_It wasn't until she had said goodnight and retired to her single bed in a strange, impersonal bedroom that her mind drifted back to Patsy. Would she be having nightmares, without Delia there to keep them away? She was certainly glad to have the chance to know her parents, but she was looking forward to getting back home._

**...... _.._**

_To begin with breakfast had gone well. Delia was still cautious about what she could bring up, but she was looking forward to telling Patsy all about it when she called, and it really seemed like they could be some sort of a family. Her parents would be here for a while so she'd be able to visit them, and even when they went home she thought they'd be able to write proper letters now._

_She was feeling happily optimistic, even if she_ was _eating porridge when she really fancied toast - when mam dropped the bombshell._

_'Your dad and I have talked about it, and we want you to come home with us Delia, to Canada'._

_It was the last thing she had expected. She was only just getting to know her parents, and by all accounts even before the accident it was years since they'd been close. And now they wanted her to travel half way round the world with them, to a place she'd never been, to live among complete strangers? She knew there were reasoned arguments to be made, but all she could manage was_

_'Mam... no... My whole life is here, I... I can't just leave'._

_'Your life_ was _here cariad, but not anymore. What have you got here now, really? One friend, whose put her life on hold for you because she was feeling charitable and as far as she could tell you had no one else. That can't continue forever. You don't have a job here anymore, or a husband. For heaven's sake Delia you don't even have memories of the place! It's the perfect time to go'._

 _'But Patsy's been like family mam, I can't just leave her all of a sudden. She wants me there, and I_ like _our flat. It's my home'._

 _'Of course she told you she wanted you to move in, she would hardly have said otherwise when you'd nowhere else to go. But things are different now. You can't keep living off the charity of some nurse, not when you have your family to support you. If you won't do it for me and your poor father, do it for the sake of this... this Patsy woman. You must see it would be selfish to keep imposing on her the way you are. It's not as though you can even pay your own way while you're not working. She'd be better off finding a flatmate who can split the bills, and_ you're _better off with your family'._

_'I... I suppose I never thought of it like that'._

_'Well think about it now. I've spoken to that friend of yours and arranged for us to meet her for afternoon tea later. We'll tell her then, and meet with your doctor about transferring your care to our practice back home in the morning. There's a few things to get sorted but we can be ready to leave by the end of the week. We'll be home just in time for a nice family Christmas'._

_'You spoke to Patsy? When?'_

_'She called the hotel earlier. I didn't want to disturb you while you were resting'._

_'Oh mam, I wish you had'._

_'Well we'll all see her later so it doesn't matter now does it?'_

_'I suppose not...'_

_'And we'll tell her about the new arrangement then?'_

_'Well...'_

_'Are you thinking of her or of yourself now Delia? You owe her this... Look, I didn't want to say anything and get you all upset, but she... well, on the phone she told me she was glad we were here, to take over the burden of care. She wants her life back cariad. Can you really blame her?'_

_Delia felt winded. Patsy... Patsy was glad she wouldn't have to look after her anymore. She wanted her to leave._

_Why had she assumed she would want anything else? As mam said, it was different now her family were here. Of_ course _she wanted her life back. Hadn't she known all along how much Patsy missed nursing? She just hadn't realised she missed it more than she wanted to have Delia around._

_Delia could barely manage more than a whisper as she gave the answer her mother wanted to hear:_

_'...Alright mam. We'll tell her this afternoon'._

_'That's my good girl. I knew you'd see sense and come home to your mam and dad. Everything's going to be different now, you'll see. I think we should look on this accident as a gift from God. It's your chance to start over as the person you were always meant to be, with your family behind you and the Lord by your side. Your suffering the last few weeks will wash away your old sins and you can begin with a clean slate. Not many people get that chance cariad, you should count your blessings. You know, I can't wait to show you round the church, and introduce you to Father Tremblay. He does the loveliest Christmas service and I'm sure he could do some sort of blessing for you, to welcome you back into the arms of Jesus where you belong. Oh Delia I'm_ so _excited! We'll go for a nice girly shopping trip first, get you something really special to wear on the day. And we can have lunch out, make a day of it! We can find somewhere that does coconut cake. How about it?'._

_'I... I... Yes mam I'm sure that'll be lovely. I'm sorry. I don't have much appetite for breakfast. I think I'm just going to go for a little lie down'._

_It was all Delia could do not to run from the dining room. Somehow her mother's enthusiasm for the idea of her going with them to Canada made the prospect all the more unappealing, and there were tears in her eyes by the time she finally shut her bedroom door behind her._

_Canada. How had this happened? Yesterday she was living with Patsy and making plans for their future. They had finished painting the flat and made the first shopping trip for furnishings. They were so comfortable in each other's company now that often Delia would go hours without remembering that she had amnesia. They had been happy... Or at least_ she _had been happy. She had really thought Patsy felt the same way, but now... How had she got it all so wrong?_

_Then there was the rest of the life she had been building for herself – the girls at Nonnatus House who had seemed well on the way to becoming really good friends. The letters she'd just started exchanging with a few of the nurses from the hospital that she had been hoping would lead to restored friendships further down the line. The work she'd been going to start at Nonnatus while Patsy was out attending births. The cat she had still harboured secret plans to mention, eventually. Now she was going to have to start from scratch._

_It was almost 10am, but Delia crawled back into the bed that had already been remade by the hotel maid (with a twinge of guilt at undoing her neat work) and pulled the covers over her head. Her parents believed she was still a proper invalid, so if she decided to indulge her sadness and hide under the blankets, no one was going to suppose it to be anything but physical exhaustion. She lay there in the self-imposed darkness, tears trembling at the edge of her lashes but not quite giving her the relief of falling. She felt too numb and in shock for that as she tried to take it all in. But however hard it was, she had to work it all out now, so that she could be composed by the time she met Patsy this afternoon. She had to seem pleased by the concept of going with her parents._

_It was what Patsy wanted._


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly: This chapter starts at Patsy's phone call to the hotel, before the breakfast last chapter where Mrs Busby made her announcement/proposal to Delia about coming home. I know it's fairly obvious but I haven't overlapped their timings much so far so thought I'd make it clear.
> 
> Second: Just in case anyone thinks I've been deeply unfair to Mrs Busby's character the last couple of chapters - I know canon Mrs Busby is not nearly as awful as I have written her. I made a conscious decision to change her character quite significantly to suit the plot. I've tried to make her recognisable in a general way, but exaggerated and altered to fit. I felt the need to say so because I feel sort of bad for the character assassination haha.

'Good morning, my name's Patience Mount, I'm calling to speak to Delia Busby. I believe she stayed with you last night? She's expecting my call'.

'Certainly Madam, please hold the line while I inform Miss Busby'.

Patsy waited almost three minutes, while the handful of change she had brought for the call slowly dwindled in her pocket until she was afraid it would run out before anyone answered. At last a Welsh accented voice crackled into life on the other end of the line.

It wasn't Delia though. It was reminiscent of her certainly, but it was as though all the warm sunshine of Delia's tone had soured and sharpened in this voice, until it felt as though a simple 'hello' might be capable of cutting whoever it was aimed at. Delia had never sounded like that.

'Nurse Mount I presume?'

'Yes Mrs Busby, I was actually hoping to speak to Deli-'

'I'm quite sure you were, but my daughter is resting and I have no intention of disturbing her. However, Delia _would_ like to meet you this afternoon for tea, so you may speak to her then'.

In spite of Mrs Busby's restrictive over protectiveness, Patsy though for a moment she might have been wrong about her disapproval of them – here she was actually arranging for Delia to see her, apparently of her own free will.

'That would be lovely! I can collect her-'

But once again she was not allowed to finish a single sentence before the indomitable Mrs Busby interrupted.

'Delia wants to give you the news herself, but I feel it only prudent to give you some warning so you don't feel the need to make a scene. Delia has asked to come home with her father and I, and of course we were delighted to accept. She will be coming back to Canada with us at the end of the week'.

'I... I see...'

'This is what Delia wants, and she is very excited about it. I trust that you won't do anything to confuse her, or make this more difficult than it needs to be. My daughter has been through a lot'.

For a moment Patsy was winded, completely unable to draw another breath as she tried to make sense of Mrs Busby's words. To begin with of course she had wondered if Delia would rather be with her family, but they had been growing so close recently that she had ceased to worry about it. If anything she'd thought Mr and Mrs Busby might decide to stay in London longer to be near their daughter, but not this. Never this. For a long moment there was nothing on the line but static, until eventually Patsy managed to choke out a reply.

'Of course I'll go along with whatever Delia wants. I would never dream of making her feel guilty for leaving'.

That much was true. She would do whatever it took to be pleased for Delia when she saw her... but she wasn't pleased yet. She let Mrs Busby finish making the arrangements, only listening enough to ascertain that she should meet them in the hotel dining room at four o'clock that afternoon.

Meet _them_. So she wasn't even to be allowed this goodbye alone with Delia. She agreed woodenly, hanging up the phone just before her coins ran out.

Somehow she managed to smile at the man waiting patiently outside the phone box on her way past, though she could tell her movements were unnaturally stiff as she made her way home. A large part of her wanted to curl up under the covers and cry until she had no tears left... but even alone in her own flat, that was not how Patsy dealt with things. She had allowed herself to be more vulnerable with Delia than she had with anyone since they had taken away her mother's body eighteen years ago, but not anymore. Delia was leaving, so that was that. No more crying.

All at once, Patsy couldn't bear to be alone in the flat again, as though all the progress of the last weeks hadn't happened. Refastening the scarf she had been half way through unwinding, Patsy turned on her heel and walked back out onto the street. She was fairly sure Trixie had a day off, and there was no one (except Delia herself) that she would rather see right now.

She had intended to arrive casually, pretending there was no reason for her visit but a whim. She had _still_ meant to do so right up until she reached for her cigarettes and found nothing there. Drat, she remembered now - she'd finished off the packet last night, in the wakeful hours before dawn.

Somehow, standing in the tobacconist's shop looking at the double row of chocolate bars winking temptingly at her in the soft light made her change her mind about the casual approach. In fact, by the time she reached Nonnatus house she had stopped off in several more shops, until she had a brimming paper bag full of goodies.

There was no one in the hall at this hour, and Patsy headed directly up to what had once been their bedroom. The door was ajar, and she could see her old room mate sitting before the mirror engaged in her day off deep cleanse beauty regime. She was just finishing applying an egg white face mask when Patsy knocked.

'Don't look, don't look! ...Oh Patsy, it's you! This _is_ a nice surprise, come on in. But where's Delia?'

Patsy held up the paper bag containing a bottle of lemonade, a box of twiglets, at least five types of chocolate and a very large carton of cigarettes.

'That's just it... Are you available for a bit of a mope Trix?'

'Of course sweetie, come and sit down. What's happened?'

So Patsy told her in as few words as possible about the unexpected arrival of the Busbys the night before and all that had followed.

'-and her mother told me that Delia has decided to go back to Canada with them, and that I mustn't upset her over it because she's terribly excited'.

Trixie frowned as best she could through the stiffening egg white.

'That can't possibly be true, she doesn't even _know_ them, and from what you've said the mother sounds a dreadful old stick, the poor girl would be driven half mad living with her. Besides, the two of you have been getting on so well, you seem so settled... there must be some mistake Patsy',

'There isn't. Mrs Busby said going with them was Delia's idea. I suppose they must have hit it off after they left for the hotel last night. Maybe being around them has triggered childhood memories, so Delia feels like she knows them better now than she does me...'

'Well I still think you're wrong. She might not remember everything before, but from what I've seen of the pair of you together since the accident, Delia really seems to love you, and that doesn't just go away. I think you should talk to _her_ about it before you worry too much. It's probably all the mother's idea, I bet Delia's been talked into it and will be utterly miserable about the whole affair when you meet her for tea'.

Although she didn't dare to be quite as optimistic as Trixie, Patsy felt a little better at her friend's disbelief.

'I suppose you might be right. I should at least let Delia explain for herself. Thanks Trix'.

'You're welcome sweetie, dispensing wisdom while looking utterly ridiculous is what I'm here for'.

'Oh tosh, you know you look better with your face covered in egg than most people do in full make-up'.

Trixie smiled at her mischievously at that.

'Careful with the extravagant compliments Patsy, you're practically a married woman, a girl could get ideas'.

'No worries on that score, I'm afraid blonds aren't really my type. Sorry old thing'.

She was surprised at herself for the answer – it came so naturally to banter back and forth with Trixie that for a moment she had forgotten what they were actually talking about, especially as her friend spoke of her and Delia's relationship as though it were the most natural thing in the world. It was nice to be able to feel so safe on the matter of her leanings, but even so, now she had realised how openly they were discussing it, she couldn't help the surge of caution that pushed her to change the subject.

'Well, I think you're words of wisdom have earned you something to drink, don't you? Though we might need to find you a straw if that mask gets any stiffer'.

Trixie went very still at her words, and Patsy almost kicked herself when she realised how they must sound to someone for whom alcohol was never far from the mind.

'Sorry, I just meant I brought a bottle of lemonade. I thought you might like a glass, and some nibbles. I'm afraid I went a bit overboard on the way here and bought rather a lot of comfort food'.

'Oh. Yes. Of course. Lemonade. Lemonade would be lovely. Thank you'.

'Trixie... do you want to talk about it?'

Her friend wouldn't meet her eye, turning to check the face mask in the mirror as an excuse as she replied with forced calm:

'Talk about what?'

'I won't make you say it if you don't want to... but I want you to know I'm here for you Trixie, and I won't think any less of you, no matter what. I know how hard it must be going through something like that on your own, so even if you don't want to discuss it now, if you ever change your mind you can talk to me'.

Trixie slowly lowered her hand from where she had been dabbing at a patch of egg white on her chin, though she didn't turn from the mirror yet.

'How long have you known?'

'Since that night Delia and I came over and danced to records with you and Babs... I'm sorry I didn't say anything sooner, but there's never been a moment when we were really alone, and I didn't want to bring it up in front of the others'.

'So that's why you covered for me over the Tizer. I should have known you'd see through me. We're too much alike for our own good sometimes'.

'Perhaps. Or perhaps just alike enough. I seem to remember you saw right through me first, and it has turned out to be rather a good thing, even if it scared me half to death at the time'.

'You're right. I suppose it's only fair that I reciprocate'.

At last Trixie turned back to face Patsy, and deliberately met her eyes before saying:

'I'm an alcoholic. I haven't had a drink for over a month now, but every day is still a struggle, especially after a hard case, or when I end up here alone of an evening'.

'Oh Trixie, here I've been for the last month unloading my problems on you, and not offering a word of support in return. I wish I'd been there for you sooner. Have you had anyone you can talk to about it?'

'Sister Mary Cynthia knows – she found me calling the Samaritans when I was at my lowest ebb, and I've had to tell Sister Julienne of course... I've been going to a support group too. That's the only place I really talk about it'.

Patsy listened as Trixie went on to explain about her father's drinking, and how she had become dependent on it herself as other things in her life seemed to unravel. They ended up sitting squashed up side by side on Trixie's bed. A box of twiglets and a packet of chocolate creams were open between them as they exchanged the stories of their histories and smoked cigarette after cigarette. Patsy went into much less detail than she had with Delia, but even so she found that having told it all from start to finish made it easier now to discuss the salient details with Trixie. It still felt sad to talk about her mother and Grace, but she could do it without choking up or shutting down.

By the time they heard the others starting to arrive for lunch, both Patsy and Trixie felt a deeper kinship with the other than ever before. For Patsy at least it was the first time she had had a friend like this, if one discounted Delia. It was a much nicer feeling than she had expected.

'Why don't you stay for lunch? I'm sure everyone would be delighted to see you'.

'I don't know... I haven't been invited, and besides which there's bound to be questions about where Delia is. I'm not sure I can face it'.

'You'll have to do it at some point Patsy, there's no point putting it off. For one thing Sister Julienne is still trying to find the Busbys, it doesn't seem fair not to tell her they're right here in Poplar'.

'I suppose you're right...'

'You don't have to say Delia's thinking of going with them to Canada, just that they're here, and Delia's visiting with them at their hotel. You shouldn't have to deal with well meaning sympathy that way, people will just be pleased that the search is over'.

'Alright. As long as Sister Julienne doesn't mind the intrusion, I'll stay for lunch'.

'Of course she won't mind! You're part of the family, you know that. And afterwards it'll be your turn for an egg mask and a makeup session. We can see about doing something special with your hair too'.

'There's really no need for that'.

'Of course there is. If you look your best you'll feel more confident, and it'll just go to show Mr and Mrs Bossy-boots that they can't rattle you as easily as they think'.

It was exactly as Trixie had said over lunch, with people exclaiming at the surprise of the Busbys' arrival, and Sister Julienne looking delighted that one of the messages she and Tom had sent out must have eventually found its way to them, though the news of their coming had yet to make its way back through the branches of the phone tree to Poplar. There was only one slightly sticky moment, with Sister Winifred saying how pleased Patsy must be not to have the responsibility of next of kin anymore. But Trixie had caught it at once and deflected it before it could lead to questions of Delia's care going forward, pointing out that she was well enough not to need a next of kin making her decisions for her anymore. Before anyone could comment she had smoothly turned the conversation onto safer ground.

After that the afternoon passed surprisingly quickly, being dabbed with various face and body creams, having her hair set and her nails painted, and finishing off with having her makeup done by Trixie's expert hand. She tried to convince Patsy to borrow one of her own glamorous dresses, but Patsy drew the line at that, insisting that it would do her no favours with Delia's already suspicious mother to look as though she was dressed for a date. Her own perfectly smart but appropriately conservative jacket and skirt would do. After another minute of gentle cajoling, Trixie gave in and agreed that green was probably Patsy's best colour anyway, so it might be for the best.

Patsy had been sceptical about the power of a make over, allowing Trixie to have her way with it mostly for want of any better suggestions for how to spend the afternoon; but now it was done she was surprised to find she really did feel more confident. She left early, not wanting to risk being late if she got lost on the way to the unfamiliar hotel. Trixie waved her off from the doorway, wishing her luck as though she were on the way to an interview or exam.

She arrived almost fifteen minutes before their agreed meeting time of 4 o clock, but even so it was to find the Busbys already seated, with telltale scone crumbs on their plates and half drunk cups of tea. Mrs Busby did not look pleased to see her.

'Ah, Nurse Mount, you've joined us at last. Excuse us for beginning without you, we've been here nearly 20 minutes and my husband doesn't like to be kept waiting for his tea'.

Patsy glanced at the clock on the wall to confirm there was no problem with her watch, but no, it was definitely only 3.47.

'I'm sorry, I believe we agreed to meet at 4?'

'Did we? Well, never mind, you're here now. I _told_ Delia you'd be along when you could fit us in, but there she was fretting. I suppose we could all have one more scone to keep you company, but then we should be getting on. We've a lot to do'.

Patsy was silently fuming as she took in the woman's smug expression. She had planned this – giving Patsy the wrong time so she would have only the briefest meeting with Delia to be told the news of her departure, before she was whisked away to whatever errands her mother doubtless had planned to fill up every minute of her time before they left. If she hadn't arrived so early Mrs Busby might even have got away with not having tea with her at all, just allowing Delia to deliver the news standing in the hallway in their coats, while she waited impatiently for her to follow. And she was trying to make it look as though it were _Patsy's_ fault for being late!

Mrs Busby had called over a waiter and asked for another pot of tea 'and four scones please'.

Ordinarily she would let it pass, but Patsy's temper was just below boiling point already, and she felt it flare at the pushy woman's presumption in not even asking what she wanted. Her tone was just this side of civil as she interrupted:

'Actually, I think I'll have a teacake and butter thank you'.

It was with a certain amount of grim satisfaction that she heard Mrs Busby sigh irritably and amend: 'very well, three scones and a teacake'.

But then for the first time since Patsy's arrival, Delia spoke up unexpectedly.

'Actually mam, I think I'll have a teacake too this time round'.

It was a small thing, but Delia was siding with Patsy, though goodness knows it was difficult to go against even the smallest of Mrs Busby's plans. Her mother huffed crossly.

'Fine! Two teacakes! Unless of course _you_ feel the need for a change too Howell?'

The glare she gave her husband seemed to contain all the venom she would have liked to spit at Patsy, but couldn't do so for the sake of propriety and a neutral appearance before her daughter. In spite of the daggers she was shooting at him though, Mr Busby's answer was mild, as if it had been a perfectly normal question.

'No thank you my dear, I'm a creature of habit and I do like a scone, though these aren't a patch on the Welsh cakes you make at home, if the good waiter will forgive me saying so'.

The tension eased a little at his words, and Patsy looked for the first time at the meek, unassuming man that had so far been completely overshadowed by his wife. She couldn't be sure if he was oblivious or studiously ignoring the hostility in the room, but whichever it was it seemed to be doing the trick. Although it was once again Mrs Busby that took the lead in the conversation, her tone was a few degrees warmer than the ice with which she had initially been greeted as she asked

'Did you have any trouble finding the hotel?'

'Not much thank you, I called reception again before I left and they gave me general directions. I'd never been in before though'.

'I don't suppose there's much call for hotels when you live in the area'.

She, Mrs Busby and Delia kept up a rather strained but perfectly civil conversation about small matters – comparing the difference between the weather in Canada and England, and talking about hotels they had visited in the past. Every time she and Delia began to talk directly to each other and ease towards a comfortable discussion however, Mrs Busby chipped in, reigning the conversation back to a place where it was under her control. Patsy was almost convinced that she was not going to mention Delia leaving at all as time ticked on and the tea things were slowly consumed. At last she dabbed her mouth with a napkin and said:

'Delia has something she wants to tell you Nurse Mount, don't you Delia?'

Delia looked almost as frustrated by her mother's domination of the discussion as Patsy felt, clearly wishing they could talk on their own but unsure how to make it happen. At last she shifted in her seat to make the conversation between them as direct as possible, turning her shoulder to her mother as much as she could get away with.

'Yes... I've talked it over with mam, and... I think it's for the best if I go back with them. To Canada'.

Patsy was watching carefully as Delia spoke, but her expression was unreadable. She didn't look as though she were upset and being forced into it... but she wasn't looking as excited as her mother had made her out to be either. She hadn't meant to, but somehow she couldn't stop herself asking

'Are you sure about this Delia? It's a very big decision'.

A look passed between Mrs Busby and her daughter, and then Delia smiled brightly, changing as quickly as though a light had been flicked on.

'Of course. It means you can go back to work full time and- and I'll get to know more about my family. I've already started getting more bits and pieces of memory back since meeting mam and dad'.

Delia really did look happy when she said that. Trixie had been wrong, it wasn't just Mrs Busby. Pushing her real feelings down as deep as she could, Patsy tried to match the dazzle of Delia's smile with her own.

'Well then, I think that's wonderful. I do hope you'll write though? We would all love to know how you're getting on'.

Every encouraging word she spoke for the rest of the short meeting felt like a knife twisting in her stomach, but Patsy ignored the pain and continued to act as though this were the most exciting news in the world. How could she do otherwise?

It was what Delia wanted.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's probably obvious by now that Mrs Busby is... shall we say a bit on the harsh side? But I want to put a warning on this chapter in particular for parental unpleasantness and religious themes. It's nothing TOO drastic but it has been suggested that it could do with a heads up, so if you're worried about reading that then skip to the end for more spoilerish notes :)

_After that one short, awkward tea there had apparently been no time to meet with Patsy again all week, and certainly not for Delia to go alone to their flat ('you mean the nurse's flat cariad, it was never yours really, you know that'). She had asked mam several times, suggested she might stay there a night or two, brought up the idea of a farewell luncheon with her friends, even outright stated that she was going out to see Patsy. None of it had worked. Each time her mother had a reason why it was not only impossible, but a ridiculous, childish and selfish suggestion. She kept bringing up things she'd planned 'just for her' and reminding her of all the years her actions had cost them._

_'I'm just trying to make up for lost time with you cariad. I'm trying to show that I've forgiven you. I don't understand why you seem to want to throw it back in my face. Don't you want us to be a proper family?'_

_That was just the trouble. She_ did _want to be a proper family. Especially now she knew this was the only one she had, since she couldn't live with Patsy. She wanted so badly to make this work, to belong somewhere. That was why she kept acquiescing to her mam when she came up with a reason she shouldn't seek out her friend. It was why she had stopped pushing her for an answer when mam brought up, once again, the fact that she and her dad were forgiving her for some great wrong she had done them. It hadn't stopped eating away at her though. She spent hours lying awake in her twin bed at night, listening to mam's soft snores across the room and trying to force the memories to come until her eyes burned with exhaustion and she lost her fragile grasp on consciousness, tumbling reluctantly into unhelpful dream scenarios of what might have happened. Every night she saw herself burning down their house, or stealing her mother's pearls, or, once (bizarrely), attempting to bake her parents into a giant jam sponge. Every morning she woke frustrated and groggy, the truth of what had happened still out of reach and the new imagined scenario further clouding her chances of working it out._

_This particular morning was different though. For the first time since she had been whisked away from the flat in the wake of her parent's arrival, it was just Delia and her father. Mam was resting in their darkened room in the grip of a migraine so severe she had not even attempted to get up that morning. She had implored Delia to bring her some aspirin in a pained whisper, then asked her to leave the room quietly and not to come back in until she said so._

_Of course she was sorry for her mam, but as she had made her way down to breakfast with the threads of last night's dream (herself at 18 merrily burning a stack of family photo albums while her horrified parents looked on, begging her to stop) still tangling through her mind, she couldn't help looking on it as an opportunity. Her mam had made it quite clear that she wouldn't answer Delia's questions, but mam had not been the only other person present at the time. Although when she was around dad always seemed to follow her lead, when it was just the two of them maybe things could be different._

_She waited until they were comfortably seated across from each other, Delia cutting her toast into soldiers for her boiled egg while her father attacked his bacon with the heartfelt (and slightly guilty) enjoyment of a man that was used to eating porridge for breakfast, like it or not. It seemed to be putting him in an expansive mood, and he started chatting about anything and everything as they ate, from his vegetable garden to the comfort (or lack thereof) of hotel mattresses. Delia had never heard him talk so much or so freely, and it seemed circumstances were conspiring in her favour, all for this moment. Tightening her grip on the butter knife for courage, she waited for a pause between topics, then jumped in. It wasn't a graceful change of direction, but she couldn't bear the idea of letting this chance go in waiting for a right moment that might never arrive._

_'Dad... will_ you _tell me what happened between us before you went away? I've asked mam a few times, but she just changes the subject. I really want to know what went wrong. She... she says it was something I did'._

_Mr Busby gave her a sympathetic look over his forkful of sausage and fried bread, seeming unsurprised by the sudden question._

_'I know your mam's headstrong bach, but she's needed to be. You were quite a handful growing up you know, especially when you got to be a teenager and started having all sorts of wicked ideas. We loved you, but you were becoming so disobedient, we couldn't condone it'._

_'Condone_ what _? Why won't either of you tell me what's happened? What could I possibly have been doing that was so wrong?'_

_Her father sighed and patted her hand, but he still wouldn't answer her question, instead breaking eye contact to take a long drink of tea. Delia watched his throat move as he swallowed, wondering if he intended to say anything at all, or if he would just go back to his breakfast. At last he put his almost empty teacup carefully on its saucer and began cutting his egg into neat little squares, not looking at her._

_'It was all such a long time ago now, I don't see the point in making you feel bad for things you can't change. I am sorry it had to be that way, but I'm still not sure what else we could have done in the circumstances, you didn't leave us much choice in the end... Of course at the time we had no idea that you'd end up living with a young lady from a convent. If only you'd told us you'd found the lord again Delia we might have been making this reunion in happier circumstances. You seem to have turned out nicely enough in the end and I wish we could have been there to see you growing out of that silly rebellious phase and into the person you are now. A good, obedient daughter. To your parents_ and _to your Father in heaven'._

_Delia had no idea where her father had got the idea that she was a devout Christian from. Certainly Patsy had technically lived in a convent, but she was there as a nurse not a nun, and Delia herself had never had any involvement with the more religious side of Nonnatus House. She decided that now was not the moment to point this out however. It had not been the thing that made her most uncomfortable in that little speech._

_'So... you blame me for what happened as well?'_

_The egg in front of her suddenly seemed entirely unappealing, and Delia pushed her plate very slightly away from her as she asked the question. Dad had seemed by far the more reasonable of her parents, if_ he _blamed her for what had gone wrong between them too, it really must have been her fault._

_At long last her father put down his knife and fork and gave Delia his full attention, as if the next part was particularly serious._

_'No bach, I don't blame you. Not anymore. At the time I was angry with you for turning your back on us, but now I think your mam was right all along. She'd told me for years that your grandmother was a bad influence on you, indulging your dangerous whims the way she did. Ever since your grandfather died she was quite out of control. If it hadn't been for her you'd have come with us and would be happily married to a good man by now, not living in London with your mind half gone. I should have known you weren't strong enough to resist her ungodly ways'._

_Delia flinched slightly as her father's tone began to boil with barely suppressed anger. It was so entirely at odds with his usual calm demeanour that she almost dropped the knife that was still clenched in her fist. It stirred vaguely uncomfortable half-memories at the back of her mind that didn't quite surface into concrete images, but left her on edge as he continued._

_'That woman positively_ encouraged _you away from the church and straight onto the road to hell, and all I saw was you giving a bit of comfort to an old lady. She was your mother's mother, and I thought it important to treat her with some respect, for all she was a sinner. The bible tells us, honour thy father and thy mother. I didn't think there were exceptions to that, but in this case I know that God would have forgiven us. Because of_ her _we lost you. For_ years _. And worse, you were lost to the_ church _. She as good as sold your soul to the devil himself, and look what it's taken to wrestle it back! Always listen to your mother Delia._ Always _. You and I have a forgiving nature that blinds us to things she sees plainly. If your mam says stay away from someone, you had better stay away, or you'll find yourself regretting it in an eternity of fire and brimstone'._

 _Her grandmother again. The woman Delia had carried a photograph of to all her exams for three years. And here was her mild mannered father very nearly spitting as he railed against her. Had her grandmother secretly been a German spy during the war? Had dad caught them sacrificing goats to Beelzebub together among his rose beds? What else could_ possibly _justify this extreme reaction? She wanted to ask again, to push the point until he was forced to answer her, but Delia's heart was pounding in terror and her palms growing clammy as her father continued to steam. Instinct, or the beginning of memories almost ready to form made her stand down, ducking her head as she back-pedalled._

_'I'm sorry for upsetting you dad, I shouldn't have brought it up. Because I don't remember I sometimes put my foot in it by accident. Please forgive me'._

_She hated the cringing note in her voice, but she could feel it echoing down the years from a time when she had been too little to do anything but submit._

_At her apology her father was instantly back to his usual gentle self, assuring her it was quite forgotten as he returned calmly to his bacon, as though nothing had happened. But Delia couldn't forget, and she couldn't see him the same way anymore. As soon as she could she made an excuse and slipped away to the bathroom - the one room with a bolt on the door, where she could be assured of some privacy._

_Delia sat down on the cold edge of the bath, shutting her eyes while she tried to bring the half formed memories to the surface of her mind._

_She was five, and Delia had picked up a dropped sweet in a shop and popped it in her mouth. It was on the floor so she hadn't thought of it as stealing, it wasn't as though she'd taken it from the jar... but her mother had seen and dragged her from the shop with the words 'you wait until your father gets home'._

_Hiding behind the sofa, a little hunched ball of blue school pinafore and unravelled plaits as she waited in the half-darkness, hoping that they would forget about her if they couldn't see her..._

_Murmured voices in the hall, mam's cross, dad's starting out gentle but rising to a hard anger as he heard what had happened._

_Footsteps._

_Suddenly she was grabbed beneath the armpits and hauled roughly out._

_That voice. The hot, hard anger like burning steel that seemed all the more dangerous for how quiet it was. He never shouted. He never hit either, but sometimes it seemed it would be better if he did, like the teachers with their ruler at school. At least it would be over quickly._

_Instead he lifted Delia up onto the kitchen table and made her kneel there in an attitude of prayer while he glared down at her with distaste. Although there were only the two of them in the room, it felt as though she'd been placed on a stage in front of a crowd of people; all watching her humiliation, all angry with her. The pain that built in her knees as knelt on the hard wooden surface was only outweighed by the scrutiny she could feel burning into her like a red hot coal, whether she met her father's eyes or not. For a long time he had just stood in front of her in silence, until Delia reached such a fever-pitch of pain and anticipatory terror that she was trembling, the tears running silently down her cheeks. And then it began._

_'Do you know what happens to thieves Delia?'_

_'It was just a sweet... it was on the floor, it wasn't really-'_

_'You see? You don't even think it's wrong! What difference does it make if you steal a sweet or a bag of diamonds? It's just as bad. Was the thing you took_ yours _?'_

_'It... it wasn't anyone's daddy, it was just dropped...'_

_'Was. It. Yours?'_

_'No sir'._

_'Thou shalt not steal. One of the ten commandments. Right there with thou shalt not kill. What would you say I should do with you if you murdered someone? Would you still be making excuses then? Would you still expect me to love you and call you my little girl?'_

_Delia had shaken her head, crying too hard to answer now._

_'You have broken one of the most holy of God's laws. Immoral people, idolaters, adulterers, male prostitutes, homosexuals, thieves, greedy people, drunks, slanderers, and robbers will not inherit the kingdom of God. Corinthians. It doesn't get clearer than that. Today you have been greedy and thieving. You're setting your feet on the road to hell girl'._

_He went on to tell her in great detail what awaited those who broke the commandments in hell. He railed so fiercely against sinners that Delia's heart had pounded in terror, just as it doing now, and she'd sobbed and and begged him to forgive her..._

_She was seven and she'd skipped Sunday school to see the little circus that had started setting up on the Green, with its jugglers and a monkey in a cage..._

_she was eleven and she'd punched a boy on the nose after he'd tried to peek up her school skirt when she was skipping in the playground..._

_Her mam was controlling and sharp tongued, it was her that spoke loudest and longest in their household, and her that watched Delia most closely. But her dad had been the one she was afraid of. Most of the time he was so gentle, it seemed as though nothing would phase him. He was the one that soothed her mother's fierceness and smoothed over day to day conflicts. But he could change in a second. Usually it was in response to something he believed to be against God's law, but on occasion she couldn't work out_ what _had triggered it, and that was what was so frightening. Never knowing. Even mam bowed to his authority when he was in one of those moods._

 _Delia shuddered a little, opening her eyes quickly to the white tiled bathroom of the present. She didn't think incidents like that had happened a lot. In fact when she was little there had been so much time between outbursts that she would almost have forgotten there was any more to her father than the meekness by the time the next one came. But they_ had _happened, and it was frightening to know how wrong she'd been about his character since they'd come back into her life. Not having her memories had never felt unsafe with Patsy the way it did with her parents. She had never had to walk on eggshells, even when she'd inadvertently brought up painful memories for her friend. Patsy had never once blamed her for it._

 _She felt a fresh surge of grief at the knowledge that in a few days time she would be hundreds of miles away from the only person who she felt completely at ease with. How could she go when there was so much history she needed to know in order to be herself with these people? But then how could she_ not _go when Patsy didn't want her anymore? It was impossible. Delia dropped her face into her hands and tried not to groan aloud. If only she could speak to her former self and ask for advice, just for five minutes. If only she was well enough not to_ need _looking after._

_But maybe she was. She didn't remember her nursing training so she couldn't do that anymore of course, but maybe she could get a job as a receptionist. Or a maid even. She could answer phones or clean hotel bedrooms without special training. The seizures weren't regular anymore - they might even have stopped altogether now. It had been ages since her last one. Maybe she could get a job right away and stay in London. She might not get to stay with Patsy, but at least she wouldn't have to go to Canada..._

_But who would hire someone who couldn't even remember her own previous experience? She'd never make it through an interview. She_ had _to go with her parents, and if she did, she couldn't imagine them ever letting her come back, even if she did regain her memories. She was utterly trapped._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mr Busby is of the school of religion that believes in strict adherence to what he perceives as 'Gods law' and harsh sanctions for breaking his rules. He has a fierce temper at times and when Delia was young was given to displaying it through fearful tirades about sin, and making her feel pretty awful about herself. This is shown through an outburst over breakfast followed by Delia reliving some moderately traumatic childhood memories about it. I want to make clear though that this isn't supposed to be a reflection on religion generally, but on him as a character.  
> Also, I know both Busbys have been rather villainised in this fic but it is for very particular plot reasons that I've made them this way. Extra spoilerish bit if you really don't like this darker parent part: if you skip ahead to chapter 24 things are getting better. By chapter 26 all this part of the plot is over.


	23. Chapter 23

Since she had been hinted out of the dining room that first day, Patsy had seen nothing of Delia. She had phoned twice, but each time Mrs Busby had intercepted her call and told her that Delia couldn't possibly come to the phone. She was out with her father. And the next time she was fast asleep in her room after a funny turn. Patsy had tried to find out more about that – did 'a funny turn' mean Delia had had a seizure, or just a headache? Or that she was feeling emotional? Tired? She couldn't bear the worry that came with not knowing, but Mrs Busby had told her pointedly that that was no longer any of her concern.

'Delia is being well looked after. A good deal better than she was by you, if I'm any judge. Good day Nurse Mount'.

After that Patsy felt quite sure that Mrs Busby would not let Delia come to the phone whether she wanted to or not. It was time to take more drastic action, and at last she worked up the nerve to go to the hotel in person. The last precious days of Delia's residence in London were trickling away and she couldn't leave it this way - if Delia really was resolved to go, she at least had to say goodbye.

Patsy waited in the lobby of the hotel, feeling uncomfortably like an intruder as she stood a little awkwardly off to one side. The receptionist had sent someone to announce her arrival to the Busbys, and Patsy had told the boy specifically to fetch the younger Miss Busby, rather than her mother. She could feel her heart pounding in anticipation of the moment Delia would appear, of that little smile of welcome. If her mother came with her she could insist they be allowed to speak alone. She was sure if she said so that Delia would back her up, and how could her mother refuse a direct request? Delia wasn't a child. She would hear from Delia's own lips, without her mother's interference, that this was what she wanted. If it wasn't, then she would take her home right that minute. If it was... well, then, at least she'd be sure.

But when the boy returned, looking rather harassed and browbeaten, it was with Mrs Busby in tow, her mouth pinched in a tight, white line of fury and her daughter nowhere to be seen. The boy opened his mouth to give Patsy an explanation, but Mrs Busby waved him away with a look that could have sent a much larger man scuttling out of the firing line. Patsy could hardly blame the boy for retreating. He looked young – too young to have to deal with the wrath of Mrs Busby. Probably about the same age Delia had been when they'd had their big falling out. That thought made her stand up a little straighter and meet Mrs Busby's glare with a stern look of her own.

'I came to see Delia Mrs Busby. If she's resting I can go up to her room. I'm a nurse and quite capable of visiting a patient without causing upset'.

She almost added that Delia was not nearly as fragile as Mrs Busby seemed to think, but bit her tongue on the words. It would only add fuel to the woman's conviction that she was an unfit nurse.

Instead she put as much steel in her voice as she could muster and said calmly

'Please lead the way'.

Far from being cowed as Patsy had hoped, Mrs Busby puffed out her chest in indignation.

'Nurse Mount. I have had quite enough of your interference in my daughter's life. I've been polite to you so far because I know you've kept my Delia from having to go into some sort of institution, but this really is too much. Delia is trying to focus on her new life'.

'I'm sorry Mrs Busby, but I must insist. Delia and I have been friends for several years, you surely can't expect her to just leave without even a chance to say a proper goodbye'.

Mrs Busby folded her arms, the set of her shoulders suggesting she was quite capable of expecting exactly that.

'My daughter is up in her room in tears. All it took was to hear that you were round here, trying to force her to change her mind against her will _again_ , and she couldn't stand it any more. She knows where you are if she wants to contact you, but she doesn't want to see you. You remind her of all the awful trauma she's been through recently. She just wants to put all this behind her, and she doesn't understand why you won't accept that. It's beginning to frighten her. I won't have you upsetting her anymore. You need to accept that although it might be several years for you, for my daughter it is a matter of weeks. We are her family. She feels safe with us, and she hates the idea of you taking that from her. If you return here again Nurse Mount I shall have no choice but to tell the hotel staff to escort you from the premises'.

Every word felt like a kick in Patsy's stomach. Either Mrs Busby truly was a masterful manipulator, knowing exactly what to say to make her words hurt most... or it was true. What if Delia really was feeling harassed by her repeated attempts to contact her? It felt as though Mrs Busby had kicked a hole right through her, and all the righteous conviction she had come in with was draining away to a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

'Please tell Delia that I don't want to stop her doing whatever it is she wants. I just want to say goodbye to her'.

'I'll be sure to pass it on. _Goodbye_ Nurse Mount'.

She had left. What else could she do? She couldn't stand the idea that she was tormenting Delia with a trauma that she just wanted to forget about. After all, it was true that Delia knew where she was if she wanted to see her - she could drop by the flat at any time, and so far she hadn't.

She hadn't called again after that. If Delia didn't contact her beforehand she would go to see her off at the station. Surely she wouldn't object to that? If it seemed she really didn't want to see Patsy then she could just hand over a few of her more treasured belongings that she was sure Delia wouldn't want to be parted from and then she would go. In the meantime, Patsy turned to work to distract herself from the aching emptiness of the flat. To begin with she had felt reluctant to go out, just in case Delia _did_ call round when she was gone, but it couldn't last long. Patsy was not the sort to wait by the window, watching for a visitor. Being idle gave her far too much time to ruminate, and seemed uncomfortably like something a lovelorn school girl might do besides.

Even so, before she left for her first shift Patsy couldn't resist penning a little note. In it she explained her whereabouts and left the address and telephone number of Nonnatus House, just in case Delia _did_ happen to come round while she was out. At least that way she would have a chance of finding her, even if she didn't remember how to get there on her own. She left the piece of paper poking from the letter box, with Delia's name written clearly on the part visible from the outside. It wasn't much, but it was the best she could do.

Being back at work helped to soothe Patsy's feeling of tension. She had arrived early to go through the Rolodex and familiarise herself with the progress of their current cases, and by the time the others had trooped through to receive their assignments she was feeling nicely up to speed.

'Morning morning'.

She said it with a smile that she hoped looked genuine, even if slightly more like the sort of polite look she used to hide behind than a true smile for friends.

'Welcome back Nurse Mount'.

'Hallo Patsy, gosh it's good to see you!'

'Kept the uniform in tip top shape I see'.

That was as much time as they had for pleasantries before Nurse Crane returned all their attention to the matter at hand. Somehow, during the business of doling out their assignments for the day and preparing their bags and delivery packs, Patsy failed to mention Delia's leaving to the others. It wasn't until she was strapping her bag securely onto her bike and preparing to start her route that she remembered that Trixie was, as far as she knew, the only one who had any notion of what was going on. It was a relief in a way to know they wouldn't mention it to her... But she'd have to tell everyone soon. Delia was their friend too and it wouldn't be fair not to give them some sort of a chance to say goodbye. Perhaps they could organise a farewell party. If it wasn't just Patsy asking to see Delia it might be harder for Mrs Busby to ignore. Delia might find it less upsetting. If she _was_ upset. Just for now though, she turned her attention to her patients. In spite of everything, it was good to be back.

Just getting into the saddle of the bike felt like coming home; like if she only cycled fast enough she could out-distance her problems altogether. It was an oddly fanciful notion for the steadfast Nurse Mount, but still she found herself pedalling faster on her morning route, her cloak catching in the wind and whipping behind her with a satisfying snap.

At least at first she did. It wasn't long before her muscles started to protest, and Patsy realised how out of condition she'd become, even in the few short weeks of inactivity since Delia's accident. Until recently she'd hardly have noticed the fact that part of her route involved cycling over cobblestones, but now she felt each bump. Every place that required her to peddle harder was a strain on her calf muscles, and her breath rasped audibly from her lungs.

By the time she reached her first patient she was feeling rather warm, and was hoping fervently that she wasn't noticeably sweaty.

'Knock knock! Midwife - may I come in?'

Her first patient of the morning was Mrs Randel. She was on her sixth baby and seemed to know the routine by heart.

'Not seen you at clinic for a while Nurse Mount, I fort you might have moved on'.

'Not a bit of it. I had some time off to care for a sick friend that's all, but I always intended to come back'.

'Well I'm glad you're back. I expect your friend is too in't she? I imagine you kept her toeing the line while she were poorly, eh Nurse Mount?'

Mrs Randel chuckled as she lay back on her bed to allow Patsy to palpate her abdomen. She had clearly meant the comment as a joke, but Patsy couldn't help feeling the echoes of Mrs Busby in her words. Did she mean to suggest that she might have frightened her friend into obedience? Trixie called her formidable too, but she'd always seemed to mean it fondly…

It was nonsense. Mrs Randel probably just meant that as a nurse she would know all the rules a patient was supposed to conform to, so it would be hard to get away with cheating on bed rest or medication. It didn't mean she thought Delia was afraid of her. Mrs Randel herself certainly didn't seem scared.

Patsy put the thought from her mind and continued her examination. The baby kicked against her hand as she assessed its position and she smiled. Everything seemed in perfect order. The head was ready to engage, the fetal heartbeat was strong and steady, and the baby was clearly active.

Her next visits passed uneventfully as she eased back into the swing of it. Her muscles seemed to loosen as she continued to cycle from house to house, so that by mid morning she was no longer too worried about looking flustered.

It was just as well. Her last visit was to Mrs Euphemia Jennings. She was a nervous woman, who flinched at loud noises and seemed to come positively undone if she felt anyone else was anything less than utterly composed. When Patsy arrived she was hovering by the front room window, peering through her net curtains in anticipation of the midwife's arrival. Even so she jumped at the gentle tap at the door. Patsy had been dreading this visit. She remembered the woman from check ups at the clinic during the earlier stages of her pregnancy, and even then she had made her feel like a brute; no matter how softly she spoke, or how carefully she explained the procedure. Today it was the last thing she needed.

" _It's beginning to frighten her"._

'Good morning Mrs Jennings'.

" _She doesn't want to see you"._

'N-nurse. Come in…'

" _She couldn't stand it anymore"._

For a moment Patsy forgot herself and let the door bang behind her. Mrs Jennings gave a squeak of fright and glanced round at her.

'I'm sorry Mrs Jennings, I let it get away from me. It won't happen again',

She did her best to put the conversation with Mrs Busby out of her mind, but the more time passed the more it seemed to haunt her. By the time she left Mrs Jennings it was as though the fear she saw in her patient's eyes had mingled with Mrs Busby's accusation until she almost felt she could remember seeing that same fear from Delia. It wasn't just Mrs Jennings, some patients really _were_ a bit afraid of her when she worked at the hospital. Maybe they all were.

Oh Lord, what if it was true? What if Delia had sent her mother to get her to leave, and she had just kept coming back? Perhaps Mrs Busby really was just protecting her daughter. Maybe it had been _her_ all along, assuming Delia felt things she didn't because of how they had been before. It seemed so impossible that all they had shared these past weeks could have been so different from Delia's perspective, but Mrs Busby's conviction had been so total that she was almost beginning to doubt her own sanity.

Patsy couldn't face lunch at Nonnatus House. When she got back she was relieved to find the other bikes were already in the shed - she was last to finish. She really must have been cycling slower than usual.

It was cold out here, but still she took her time over putting her bike away; loitering in the shelter to smoke a slow cigarette while she waited for everyone else to have finished sterilising their equipment and leave the clinical room. When she was sure that no one could possibly still be in there, Patsy took her bag and went inside. She didn't want to talk just now.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is such a short chapter and I think we all need to get through this particular angst arc asap, so although I only posted the last one yesterday, lets have another shall we??

_Delia followed her mother into Doctor Turner's waiting room for the final time before they started their journey the following day. Somehow she hadn't had a single moment to herself all week, and she was beginning to despair of having any opportunity at all to say goodbye to her friends; so she was pleasantly surprised to find Trixie in the office, in the process of filing patient notes. As soon as she saw Delia she dropped the rest of the stack on the desk and hurried over._

_'Delia! I'm so glad to see you, I've heard all about your big plans and I hated not to get a chance to wish you luck. And this must be your mother? How do you do Mrs Busby?'_

_Trixie gave Delia a quick hug before reaching out to shake the hand of the woman she had heard so much about from Patsy. Much to Delia's surprise her mam actually smiled. She looked quite unlike the suspicious, protective woman who had first greeted Patsy as she took the offered hand warmly._

_'You must be a friend of Delia's! It's lovely to meet you Nurse...?'_

_'Franklin, but you can call me Trixie'._

_'Well Trixie dear, it's nice to finally meet one of Delia's friends, I was beginning to worry she was all alone in London!'_

_There she went again, acting as though Patsy didn't exist... She didn't understand it, and it was such a shame that she never showed this kinder side to her best friend. Her mam_ could _be lovely, but for some reason around Patsy she only ever showed the critical, controlling part of her nature._

_She was still smiling warmly at them both as she continued_

_'Well Delia, since you have a friend here, why don't you stay and have a natter while I talk to the doctor? I'm sure you'd both like a chance to say goodbye properly, without your old mam in the way'._

_'I... but shouldn't I go in with you? The appointment's about me after all'._

_'Oh well, it's not a medical check up is it? He's just going to tell me how you need looking after so we don't have any nasty surprises on the way home. I'm sure it wouldn't be interesting for you. We can always come and fetch you if you're needed'._

_It felt a bit strange to be shut out of her own appointment like that, but after all it was true, they were only planning to go over things she already knew. Besides which it was a rare and unexpected opportunity for a bit of time away from her mam. Even if Trixie was the only friend she got to say a proper goodbye to, she could at least pass it on to the others, and explain why Delia hadn't come herself._

_As soon as her mother had closed the door to Doctor Turner's consultation room behind her, Delia collapsed onto one of the chairs with a sigh of relief. She and Trixie were the only ones in the waiting room, so it felt safe to act as she felt._

_'I must say Delia your mother seems a tad overprotective'._

_'Just a bit. She never gives me a minute alone, and she's always got a dozen activities planned, and designated rest times whether I'm tired or not. Even_ then _she doesn't leave the room though, she sits right by my bed with her knitting or her bible, it's driving me up the wall-'_

_Delia broke off guiltily, realising how ungrateful her rant sounded._

_'I know she means well. I'm sure when we're home she'll settle down and things will be easier, she just channels her anxiety into needing to control every little thing... especially me. And as for_ dad _... But it'll get better. It has to'._

_'You don't sound ever so enthusiastic about your upcoming adventure'._

_Delia tucked her chin into her chest. It felt disloyal, but she couldn't lie to Trixie. She'd managed to keep the smile in place for Patsy because she had to, but Trixie was looking at her with so much understanding that the words seemed to come tumbling out of their own accord._

_'To be honest, I wish I didn't have to go... I'm going to miss you all so much. And London already feels like home. Mam and dad live in a village of 200, I don't know what I'll do with myself there'._

_'Then why_ are _you going?'_

_Delia looked miserable, glancing involuntarily about them as if she might be overheard._

_'Well... please don't tell Patsy this, but I'm going for her sake. She wants her life back. And since my parents want me with them it seems the only thing I_ can _do. It wouldn't be fair on Patsy not to go, after all she's done for me'._

 _'Oh Delia, you are a goose. You've got it all wrong! Patsy doesn't want you to go, she's only acting pleased because she thinks it's what_ you _want. She's just got some noble but misguided idea that she needs to sacrifice her own happiness for yours. If you don't want to go then you have to tell her the truth, before it's too late and you're stuck gnawing on frozen steaks of bear meat dipped in maple syrup, or whatever it is Canadians eat'._

_Delia frowned. She so wanted to believe Trixie, but it couldn't be right..._

_'But, no, mam told me what Patsy said. She told mam that she was glad they were going to... to 'take over the burden of care' is how she put it. She said it herself...'_

_Trixie was looking at her sympathetically and shaking her head, and at last Delia realised what was going on._

_'...Or maybe she didn't. Mam's the one that told me that. And... mam's the one that spoke to Patsy first... She might easily have told her it was what I wanted, then of_ course _Patsy would say... Oh God. I need to talk to her'._

 _She glanced at the closed door to Doctor Turner's office anxiously. How long would mam be in there? There couldn't be_ that _much to say about her condition. If only Patsy had a telephone..._

_'Go to her. I'll make your excuses when your mother comes out. I'm sure she'll find a way to twist things if she's with you when you see Patsy, and you're due to leave tomorrow. This might be your last chance for the two of you to be alone. Do you know the way back to the flat? It's not far'._

_'Yes I know it. Thank you so much Trixie'._

_'You're welcome sweetie. I won't tell your mother where you've gone, but go quickly if you want to avoid a row'._

_Delia half ran from the office, moving faster than she had known she was capable of doing yet. It was actually rather liberating to be alone on the street, weaving her way through the permanent bustle of Poplar as just one small part of a crowd. Even if her mam came out onto the street now, she would have a hard job of spotting her._

_It wasn't until she arrived at their front door, only slightly out of breath, that the possibility of Patsy not being home occurred to her. Oh lord, Patsy_ had _to be in, this was her very last chance. Delia knocked a little more desperately than she meant to, already feeling the panic of what to do next if there was no answer._

_She didn't have to wait long though. The door opened almost at once, and there she was._

'Pats'.

_Delia stepped forward and hugged her tightly, still revelling in the fact that her ribs were healed enough now that she could do so without the old stab of pain flaring up. Her forehead automatically found a comfortable resting place against Patsy's shoulder as she let herself cling for a moment, delighted to find that Patsy didn't even ask for an explanation before reaching out to hug her back._

_At last she forced herself to step back, smiling a little sheepishly at her performance._

_'Can I come in? There's something I really, really need to ask you'._

_'Of course sweetheart, it's still your home, you don't have to ask'._

_Everything here was exactly as it had been the night she'd left, even down to the cardigan folded over the back of her chair. Delia felt her whole body relax as the door shut behind them. This was the feeling of comfortable familiarity she'd longed for the first time she walked into the flat. This was it. This was what home felt like._

_'I need you to promise you'll answer completely honestly, not with what you think I want to hear. It's really important. Will you promise Pats?'_

_'Of course... Delia, what's this about?'_

_'I need to know what mam said to you, that day you called the hotel'._

_'She told me you'd decided to go with them to Canada'._

_'Is that all?'_

_'Well... she made clear that I mustn't say anything to put you off, or make you feel guilty for going. But of course I wouldn't have tried to make you feel guilty anyway'._

_'Alright... this is the important bit. Did you tell her you were glad she and dad were here to take over?_ Are _you glad?'_

_Patsy's eyes widened, her expression so shocked that Delia was sure this was the first she was hearing of it._

_'_ What? _Of course I didn't tell her that! I barely said a word to her actually, she wouldn't let me. But even if she had I would never have said I wanted her to take over. Delia, you leaving is the last thing I want... but I do understand why you're going. I just wanted to make it easier for you. I know this must be a huge decision. But we'll write, and I could come out and visit you one day. If you wanted me to. I don't mean to push. I don't want you to think I'm not happy for you, just because I wasn't happy for myself'._

_Delia breathed out slowly. It was true. Elation and sorrow battled for dominance inside her as she tried to come to terms with the twin facts that Patsy didn't want her to go after all... and her mother had lied to her._

_'I don't want to go to Canada. Pats, I really,_ really _don't want to go. Mam told me... she said you wanted your own life back, that you were glad they were here so you wouldn't have the burden of me anymore. I... I was going for you. She lied to me Pats. Mam lied to me'._

_'Oh darling'._

_This time it was Patsy that initiated the hug, holding onto her with a fierceness that matched Delia's own as they broke down the wall that had been built between them over the last week. It was a long time before they let go._


	25. Chapter 25

'What do you want to do now?'

'I want to stay!'

Patsy couldn't help smiling. It was the very definition of eleventh hour deliverance, Delia turning up like this the day before she was due to move half a world away. She still didn't understand what had happened.

'I'm delighted to hear that, but I actually meant in the more immediate sense. Where's your mother? Have you told _her_ you're staying?'

'Ah... no. Actually she doesn't even know I'm here, I sort of... escaped'.

'What? Why did you need to escape? What's been happening this week Delia? I've tried to call a couple of times, but your mother always came to the phone and said you didn't want to talk. She… she told me my persistence was scaring you'.

'She never told me you'd called. I swear she didn't Pats. I could never be afraid of you! I only made it here at all because Trixie was helping at Doctor Turner's surgery when mam and I arrived for a final appointment. Mam said I should stay there and chat to Trixie while she talked to him'.

'But it was your appointment! Surely you should have been in the room?'

'That's what I thought. I thought at the time that she meant to be kind, but now I wonder if really she just wanted to be able to tell me what she liked about my care needs going forward without me being able to contradict her. I wouldn't put anything past mam anymore...'

For a moment Delia's expression was distant and sad, but then she gathered her thoughts again and continued determinedly.

'It turned out to be a good thing in the end though - Trixie told me you were only acting happy for me out of nobility. I realised I needed to stop taking mam's word for everything and talk to you. I should have worked out what she was doing earlier, but I suppose I wanted to believe the best of her. She is my mam after all, and she could be so lovely and so caring when she wanted to be.. Anyway, Trixie said she'd cover for me with mam while I came to find you'.

'So your mother's still at Doctor Turner's?'

'Probably... actually by now she's probably making Trixie's life a misery over my disappearance'.

'You're 24 Delia, it's not like you're a toddler she was supposed to be minding'.

Delia sighed, her face becoming drawn with worry.

'That's not how she'll see it. She hasn't let me out of her sight for a moment since she got here. And she always finds a way to twist things round so I feel I have no choice but to do whatever it is she wants. That was just over _visiting_ you, I'm not sure _what_ she'll do when I tell her I'm not going at all. I can't put it off forever though... I suppose I really had better go back'.

She was looking so miserable at the concept that Patsy felt the urge to reach out and hug her again, though she held back this time. Delia needed more practical assistance than a hug.

'Why don't you let me call the surgery instead? I can tell her where you are and ask her to come to the flat. We can tell her together that you're staying. It might be easier than facing her on your own'.

'You'd really do that for me?'

'Of course sweetheart'.

She only just bit back the 'I'd do anything for you' that had been about to follow her assurance. That sounded far too much like the declaration of love that she meant, but really shouldn't say to Delia as things stood. The last thing she wanted was to make Delia's home feel uncomfortable because of unwanted romantic attentions. Especially not so soon after getting it back.

'Then yes please Pats. I'd call myself but if I had to speak to mam over the phone she'd make me tell her there and then, and I really think this is something that should be in person'.

'I agree. And I'd like to be in the room to know that she isn't putting words in my mouth again'.

It was only respect for Delia's feelings that made her stop short of cursing Mrs Busby's meddling lies aloud. Beneath her calm exterior she was absolutely fuming with rage at the woman. How _dare_ she make Delia think she wanted to get rid of her? How dare she make her daughter trust her, and then abuse that trust over and over again? How dare she make Patsy believe that Delia was afraid of her? At least if she was in the room with them she'd be able to stand up for Delia if her mother got too nasty, or tried to convince her there was something wrong with her.

Patsy made the call from the phone box on the corner, Delia crowded close against her in the small space so she could hear what was said.

The phone rang twice, and then a professional, if slightly harassed sounding voice answered.

'Doctor Turner's office'.

'Trixie, it's Patsy. Do you still have Mrs Busby there?'

'That's right. May I take a message?'

Trixie's tone was carefully neutral, as if she was trying not to give anything away to the enraged Mrs Busby who was doubtless standing at her elbow, ready to snatch the phone at the slightest hint that the caller was her daughter.

'It's alright Trix, Delia isn't hiding anymore. We'd like Mrs Busby to come to the flat. Delia has some news that we want to tell her in person, about her supposed trip to Canada'.

She didn't actually _say_ that Delia was staying after all, but from the warmth that flooded Trixie's voice when she replied, it was clear she'd guessed.

'I'll be sure to pass on the message at once. And Patsy, I want to hear all about this later'.

As soon as Trixie said her name, she heard a sharp question in the background, the other voice growing louder as it approached, demanding to be given the phone.

Patsy responded quickly with:

'Thanks, I'll tell you everything soon'.

And then she hung up.

Although she knew it was spiteful, it was immensely satisfying to hang up on Mrs Busby.

'We'd better hurry back, I have a feeling your mother will be running all the way to the flat now she knows where to find you. And I think we might owe Trixie a thank you present for today, she was sounding a little vexed when I first called'.

Delia seemed to know exactly what 'a little vexed' meant when it came to anything involving her mother and smiled wryly.

'A thank you present in proportion to the favour. So… Something in the region of a brand new Jaguar?'

'A Jaguar with an extremely handsome chauffeur thrown into the bargain I think. At least. But I imagine she'd settle for a box of chocolates and some posh cigs'.

'Is that all? We should make her a medal'.

Patsy laughed. Delia still looked anxious about the confrontation to come, but she was making jokes, and at her mother's expense no less.

In spite of Patsy's prediction and their hurried return to the flat, almost half an hour passed before the furious volley of knocking announced Mrs Busby's arrival. The rather strained conversation they had been attempting to pass the time with stopped at once, and Delia went pale. Whatever the week in her parents' company had been like, she clearly wasn't expecting this conversation to be anything short of torturous. Even so, she didn't hesitate before getting up to answer the door, not waiting for Patsy's offer to go instead. She might be nervous, and hurt, but Delia was brave.

Almost before she'd got the door properly open, Mrs Busby was barging her way inside, her eyes already swivelling to take in every detail of the scene, like a detective searching for clues that a crime had been committed here. Her presence was so overwhelming that it wasn't until Delia's surprised exclamation of 'dad!' that Patsy noticed Mr Busby standing in the doorway behind his wife. That explained the delayed arrival - she must have stopped by the hotel en-route to collect him. Clearly she sensed that whatever Delia wanted to tell her was something worth having back up for.

For a moment Patsy was rather pleased to see him - he had seemed so much more reasonable than his wife in their brief previous encounters, she thought perhaps he might moderate her extreme reaction to Delia's news. When she glanced across at Delia a moment later however, her face had gone from merely pale to a scary greyish-white, so that Patsy was genuinely afraid she might be about to faint. There was clearly more than she realised to the apparently mild-mannered man to make Delia look like that, and Patsy was suddenly afraid of what Mrs Busby might have told him. In their previous encounters he had been distant, but always seemed to make an effort at politeness towards her. Now when she caught his eye he turned away from her, as if he would be sullied even by acknowledging her existence.

It was his presence and its effect on Delia more than anything else that motivated her to step in and play the host, before the whole heated debate started right there in the narrow little hallway.

'Why don't we all go through to the lounge? It's more comfortable and there isn't really room for four out here'.

She had slipped automatically into her no nonsense 'Nurse Mount ordering an unruly patient back to bed' voice, and for once Mrs Busby followed her without a word. Not _quite_ as meekly as a lamb (she had yet to meet a lamb with a glare that could bend iron and send shepherds scurrying for safety the way Mrs Busby's would have), but with far less resistance than she had offered to any suggestion of Patsy's before.

This time Patsy did not perch off in a corner when the Busbys sat down. She made a point of bringing one of straight backed dining chairs from the edge of the room and placing it right beside Delia's arm chair. When they were all seated it was hard _not_ to notice the clear factions being set out - Mr and Mrs Busby side by side on the sofa opposite Delia in her chair, backed up by Patsy sitting close beside her. Mrs Busby certainly seemed to have picked up on it, and was looking equal parts enraged and frightened to find herself placed on the opposite side to her daughter.

If she hadn't known how deviously manipulative Mrs Busby had been all this week, Patsy might have felt rather sorry for her when she saw the badly suppressed fear in her eyes as she glanced between the two of them. She seemed for once to be lost for words, and instead of making demands she waited for Delia to explain why she had brought them here, of all places.

Delia evidently saw the sorrow in her mother's expression as well, because when she spoke it wasn't with the justifiable anger of someone who's been lied to. Her tone was gentle as she explained to her parents that she would be staying in London after all.

'You know I only agreed in the first place because you told me Patsy wanted her own space back. London's my home, and I need to keep what independence I have. I couldn't do that in Canada with you, you know I couldn't. I'm sorry mam. I want us to keep in touch properly now, but I can't come home with you'.

'But I love you cariad'.

Mrs Busby's voice was almost as soft as her daughter's, a note of disbelief filling the simple statement, as if she couldn't work out why that wasn't enough to keep her daughter.

'I know that's why you did it… but mam, you've spent the last week lying to me, and keeping my own past from me, and doing everything in your power to stop me making my own decisions for fear of what they might be. I don't want to spend my life like that. And I don't want to spend my life making up for something I don't even know was really my fault. Like it or not, this is my home, and Patsy is my family. I'm not going anywhere'.

Mrs Busby seemed about to implore her daughter further - to argue or cajole or maybe even to explain herself… but at that moment Mr Busby stood up, his face suddenly so hard it might have been a carved wooden mask. When he looked at Delia, his eyes were burning with a heat so intense it looked as though it might scorch her, and Patsy had reached out a hand towards her friend before she knew what was happening, her fingers resting on Delia's sleeve as if her presence might somehow fend off the hail of words he flung at her like a volley of bullets.

'You had a chance to be _saved_ girl. How _dare_ you throw that back in our faces, as if you don't owe us a thing for all the years we've given you. God wiped the slate clean and gave you a chance to repent, and you would make the same mistakes again? No. You're coming with us right now Delia, and you will do penance until your soul is cleansed. This has gone further than I ever imagined. To think I thought you had made progress, that this house was _pure._ I warn you child, if you choose this disgusting, sinful life then you are not my daughter'.

Patsy could feel Delia trembling beneath her hand as she gazed back up at her father, but before she could get between them and speak up in her friend's defence, Delia was on her feet. She was much shorter than her father of course, but at least she wasn't sitting there allowing him to loom over her like a frightened child.

'God wasn't giving me a gift dad. I had an accident. A horrible, tragic, life altering accident that took my memories, and now I'm fighting every step of the way to get them back. But they _are_ coming back, bit by bit. There is no clean slate, no repenting, no _penance_. Not this time. I'm not five years old anymore, and I'm not going anywhere. I would like to keep in touch when you both go home, but if you refuse then so be it. I know where my family is'.

Delia smiled down at Patsy with a warmth that flooded her stomach and filled her with pride. She got to her feet beside Delia, giving her hand a little squeeze as she glared defiantly at Mr Busby to prove to him that whatever he did now, his daughter would not be left alone.

The hot rage in Mr Busby's eyes slowly turned cold as he looked from one to the other of them and it became clear that Delia was not going to back down. At last he met Delia's eyes with a chilly indifference that was worse than any amount of anger.

'Come Gladys. We're done here. This girl has made her choice, and she is no concern of ours anymore'.

Mr Busby was halfway to the door before he realised his wife hadn't followed. Mrs Busby had got to her feet as he spoke, but she made no move towards him. She was staring at Delia with tear filled eyes, one hand raised slightly in her direction, as if she wanted to touch her but didn't quite dare to do it.

' _Gladys'_.

The word was a command. A summons that brooked no refusal. But still she didn't obey it. Without taking her eyes from her daughter's face, Mrs Busby spoke with every bit as much force as her husband.

' _No_ Howell. Not again. I agreed with you before because I thought it was only a matter of time before Delia came round, and a bit of tough love would make things better in the end. Instead we just drifted further and further apart. Then Delia nearly _died_ and it was _weeks_ before anyone told us. Well not this time. Maybe we were wrong. Maybe _Delia_ isn't the one being given a second chance. Whatever happens, I won't lose her again after everything we've been through. I won't'.

At that Mrs Busby stepped forward and swept Delia into a hug. Patsy noticed that in spite of her emotion, she was careful not to press too hard against her daughter's healing ribs.

The door slammed as Mr Busby stormed out without another word to any of them, but his wife ignored it, speaking urgently to Delia without so much as glancing in the direction he had gone.

'You write to me cariad. Proper letters. And send photographs. I want to know how you're doing. Not just Christmas and birthdays. And nur- Patsy, you look after my daughter for me. She's very precious to me and I won't have her hurt'.

Under the circumstances Patsy decided not to point out that Mrs Busby had been the one hurting Delia over the last week, and indeed for all the years she had shut her out of their lives. Instead she said firmly:

'I will Mrs Busby'.

It seemed to cost her some effort, but at last Mrs Busby managed to tear her gaze from her daughter's face to meet Patsy's eyes.

'Yes... I think you will'.

She gave her daughter one last, long hug, and then extended her hand to Patsy in a handshake that, while not exactly warm, was only slightly stiff.

'Alright then. I suppose I'd better catch up to your father. I'll try and talk him round cariad. He really does love you'.

'Thank you mam. I'll write, I promise'.

Mrs Busby looked as though she wanted to say something else - maybe even to change her mind and insist on dragging Delia out the door with her after all. But in the end she only nodded, and ducked her head as she hurried after her husband.

Delia let out her breath in a long, slow sigh, as if she had been holding it from the moment her parents arrived. She was shaking properly now, and Patsy put a hand under her elbow to guide her back towards the chair for fear she would fall. She didn't try to tell Delia it was alright. Whatever that had just been, it _wasn't_ alright, and tears were already spilling onto her friend's cheeks; though whether they were from sorrow, relief, shock or just adrenaline not even Delia seemed to be able to say for sure.

'I wasn't expecting that from your father. Until now he seemed so…'

'Meek? Gentle? Reasonable? I know. I thought the same, until he flared up at the hotel when I asked what had caused the problems between us in the first place. Then I remembered what he could be like when I was little. He'd just suddenly turn angry over some little thing I'd done and it would be as though he was this whole other person. He… he never went cold like that then though. It was all passionate rage and speeches about what happened to unrepentant sinners. This time it was like he didn't even know who I was. Like I was just some girl he'd never met before. Less than that. Like I was an old, broken shoe that had something disgusting stuck to it and should be thrown away before it got anything else dirty'.

Delia's voice broke on a sob and she reached blindly for Patsy through a haze of tears, sobbing into her shoulder as all her feelings of fear and confusion and rejection over the last week spilled out of her.

Patsy sat squashed up close against her, both of them somehow managing to squeeze onto the seat of Delia's arm chair instead of moving over to the more roomy sofa. She kept hugging her and rubbing slow, soothing circles onto her back until the tears eased a little. Then Delia told her, haltingly, everything that she'd missed over the last week; from the first supper at the hotel when she'd had so much hope for how things might turn out with her parents, through the days of dealing with her mother's domineering personality, guilt tripping and emotional manipulation and her father's unpredictable temper, right up to that last doctor's appointment when Trixie had finally helped her see what was really going on.

Patsy had to keep reminding herself that at the last Mrs Busby had at least partially redeemed herself by letting Delia go in order to keep her rage down to repressible levels throughout the story. Delia had the absolute, unassailable right to decide how to deal with this emotionally, and Patsy stepping in with her own anger was the last thing she needed. If Delia wanted to forgive her mother, then Patsy had to do her best to do the same. Even so, she couldn't help being extremely glad that this time tomorrow both of the elder Busbys would be gone from London and she and Delia would be able to start picking up the pieces without fear of further upheaval.

At last the story was done, and Delia flopped back against her chair, exhausted. For a moment it seemed she might be about to cry again, or simply go to sleep. Then she gave Patsy the ghost of her usual impish smile and said with as much bounce as she could muster into her voice.

'I'm hungry after all that. Can we have chips?'


	26. Chapter 26

_Delia was so busy attempting to subtly winkle a chip from its newspaper wrappings that it was a moment before she realised Patsy was no longer beside her. She swallowed the too hot bite she had managed to take a little too quickly as she turned around, feeling the heat of it all the way down to her stomach. She knew it was dreadfully unseemly to eat in the street, but the parcel had felt so warm and smelled so_ good _she had been unable to resist. She did her best to cover the incriminating hole she'd made in the paper, wiping the grease from her fingers onto the newspaper guiltily as she did so. Had Patsy caught her at it and decided not to be seen walking with her badly behaved friend?_

_But no, of course not. Delia reminded herself yet again that she wasn't with her mother anymore - she didn't have to worry about being scolded. In actual fact, Patsy had paused by the phone box and was digging through her pocket for change, juggling her handbag, gloves and parcel of fish and chips as she rummaged. In the few seconds it had taken for Delia to register that Patsy had stopped, turn round and locate her friend, she was already calling out to her._

_'Wait a bit Deels! Sorry I just remembered I need to call Nonnatus House and tell them I won't be in this afternoon. It'll just take a minute, but if you'd rather go straight back to the flat I can give you the key. It's about time I gave you your own back actually, it's been sitting in a drawer ever since your accident'._

_Delia hurriedly retraced her steps, relieving Patsy of her chips before she dropped something from her overburdened hand as the other continued to count coins._

_'You were meant to be at Nonnatus? Oh Patsy, you should have said! Have I made you late?'_

_'It's fine. Sister Julienne said I could join them for lunch before my shift if I wanted, but they weren't really expecting me until 2, and I imagine Trixie's warned them I probably won't be coming. It's just a courtesy call to make sure I'm not leaving them in the lurch'._

_'But why are you cancelling if you have a shift?'_

_For a ridiculous moment Delia wondered if her friend was ill and hadn't mentioned it, quickly checking her face for signs of suffering that might prevent her working. Then Patsy raised one perfectly arched eyebrow at her, as if the answer was too obvious to need explaining, and the penny dropped. She felt a little silly then, but shook her head very firmly._

_'No. You're not to cancel because of me Pats. It's really very kind of you, but I'm fine'._

_'Of course I'm not going. Not after everything that's happened today. I wouldn't dream of it'._

_Patsy spoke gently, reminding her once again how different things were between them to the way they were with her mother. Mam would have spent the last hour telling her all the sacrifices that were being made on her behalf, making sure she was properly grateful for every tiny thing she cost them. Patsy acted as if it were a given that she would work around Delia. As if she came first, and everything else would just have to fit into the gaps. A bubble of affection and gratitude welled in her chest then, and she wondered if Patsy had any idea how kind she was, or how much she meant to Delia. She wasn't sure_ she _had known it before. Not properly. Not until she'd known what it was like to be without her._

_She put a hand out to cover the coins Patsy was holding ready for the phone call, smiling into her eyes reassuringly._

_'I mean it. What would we do at home anyway? Spend the afternoon commiserating over my parents, or going over and over the details of what happened until we were both driven half mad with it? Actually, I think this is the perfect solution. You can do your shift, and I can keep busy at Nonnatus, and say thank you to Trixie in person. By the time we go home we'll both be too tired to spend time worrying over things we can't change'._

_Patsy answered with one of those smiles of hers. The ones that were so lovely they made Delia ache a little to see them._

_'Alright, we'll go. We should have enough time to finish our chips and get changed first. Especially as one of us has already started on hers'._

_Delia glanced down at her parcel. The little hole she had made had shifted to the front when she'd taken Patsy's from her, and a traitorous wisp of steam was curling up from it, plainly visible in the chilly air._

_'Ah... you've got it quite wrong Pats. That's a... a breathing hole. To let the steam out. So the chips don't go soggy...'_

_She thought the explanation sounded perfectly plausible, but Patsy just laughed. Before Delia could say another word she had reached through the tear to liberate a chip of her own, and was already licking the salt from her fingers by the time Delia knew what was happening._

_'You were right all along, you've been telling me for years that food tastes better if it isn't yours. They really_ do _taste better stolen!'_

_There weren't many people out to notice them, and the rest of the way home she and Patsy took turns to make raids on each other's parcels, taking a chip or a bit of fish batter and sneaking it into their mouths as they walked._

_It felt so good to walk close beside Patsy, sharing hot, crispy bites of chip and chatting away about anything and everything that she was almost sorry to arrive home and have to fetch plates and sit down properly at the table._

_Delia sighed wistfully at her forkful._

_'Somehow they aren't quite the same once they're out of the paper. I think the news print adds a sort of seasoning...'_

_'Maybe next time we should ask if they have any ink we can put on instead of vinegar'._

_'That's disgusting Pats!'_

_'You're the one that wanted the flavour of newspaper!'_

_'Yes but it isn't the ink that makes them taste better. I think it might be the news stories actually. Well read potatoes'._

_They continued their nonsensical debate about what made chips taste best all the way through the meal, and although Delia didn't_ forget _everything else that had happened, she found she was able to put it to the back of her mind. By the time Patsy had gone to the bedroom to change into her uniform, Delia was finally feeling steady enough to deal with the inevitable questions that would greet her at Nonnatus House._

_She couldn't help marvelling at how much easier it was to walk there than it had been the first time. Whatever else could be said for mam's enforced regime of timed rests and short errands, it really did seem to have helped her get her strength back. Delia almost wanted to go back to the flat and do the whole walk again, just because she could. Maybe followed by a quick slide down the well polished bannister she had noticed in the Nonnatus hallway..._

_Of course, she followed neither of these impulses, instead walking meekly after Patsy in the direction of the clinical room. All of a sudden she couldn't wait to see her friends again. Barely a week had passed since she'd last seen Barbara, and only a few hours since she and Trixie had bumped into each other at Doctor Turner's, but having come so close to never seeing them again, it felt as though it had been months._

_Evidently she was not the only one who felt that way, because the moment Delia appeared in the doorway Barbara gave a little squeak of surprised delight. She let the cloak she had been attempting to fasten slip from her fingers and puddle onto the floor in an untidy heap as she ran to hug her._

_'You're here! You're not gone! I can't believe you almost went to C_ anada _and I only found out yesterday. Delia, I would have missed you so much!'_

_Delia hugged her back, an involuntary smile tilting the corners of her lips. Barbara was so sweetly sincere, you knew exactly where you stood with her. How could she possibly have though she could just walk away without a word?_

_'I would have missed you too! But why did you only just find out? Trixie's known almost as long as I have... Haven't you Trix?'_

_Trixie gently nudged Barbara aside so she could have her turn hugging Delia._

_'I knew what your parents had proposed, but I never really believed that you wouldn't change your mind in the end. I will admit that I was beginning to get just a little worried by the time we met this morning though. You cut it rather close!'_

_'How could you be sure I'd stay? I know I wasn't!'_

_'You belong here sweetie, it's obvious. With Patsy. With us. You're family'._

_Barbara nodded emphatically to demonstrate her complete agreement with Trixie, and Delia felt almost tearful at their easy acceptance of her. She pulled them both in for another hug, blinking a little rapidly, but otherwise managing to remain composed._

_'You – all of you - are the best family I could hope for. Trixie, I can't thank you enough for making me see sense over Canada'._

_Just then another voice broke through the sweet moment, making all four of them snap guiltily to attention._

_'Nurse_ Gilbert _, is that your cloak lying in a crumpled heap on the floor? Is that any way to treat your uniform? You're luckily this floor's just been cleaned or I'd make you send it to the laundry and go without, and it looks like snow this evening. Snap to and pick it up you silly girl!'_

_Barbara practically leapt away from Delia to retrieve her cape, as if Nurse Crane might change her mind and send her out without it after all if she didn't get there first. Before anyone else could move, she had turned her frown on Trixie and Patsy._

_'I am almost certain that I'm not having a senior moment and it is in fact time for clinic? If we get a spate of chest infections on our hands because mothers and babies have been left waiting outside for us in freezing weather I shall know who to blame. Nurse Franklin? Nurse Mount?'_

_Patsy and Trixie muttered apologies and hurried after Barbara, but to Delia's surprise Phyllis did not immediately follow them. Instead she waited until they were both out the way and then moved into their place, hugging Delia tightly in her turn._

_'I was sorry to hear you'd plans for leaving us. I'm very glad you shan't be going._ Very _glad'._

_Then she stepped back, and gave Delia's shoulder a little pat before turning to chivvy the three gaping midwives towards the door. Half way there she stopped again and turned back._

_'We shall see you this evening Delia. I do hope you and Nurse Mount will join us for supper. Until then make yourself at home - if you get tired, you know where the bedrooms are. I'm sure Nurse Franklin and Nurse Gilbert would be happy to let you use their room, but if you'd rather somewhere that didn't smell of tobacco and hair lacquer you can ask Sister Winifred to show you to mine. There's a spare bed in there now that Nurse Gilbert's moved out, and I keep it well aired'._

_'Thank you Phyllis, I'll do that'._

_The older woman nodded and swept her colleagues before her out the door. Delia smiled at their retreating backs. She could see why the others had found her so stern when she first arrived, but having seen her gentle side the briskness just seemed like a mask she put on for work, the way Patsy did when dealing with doctors, or the rowdy dock man they'd met at the fish market, or her parents..._

_Delia wrenched her thoughts away from that particular avenue, forcing herself to focus only on the present. Now her friends had been bustled so abruptly away, she wasn't quite sure what to do with herself. She tried the office, hoping Sister Julienne might be in; but it seemed she too had gone to the mother and baby clinic. The room was quite empty. Sighing, Delia wondered if perhaps she should have asked to go too, but she knew the Sister would never have allowed it. They might be her friends, but they were nurses first and without permission from Doctor Turner or her consultant specialist at the hospital, even rolling bandages in the back room was out of the question._

_She was still loitering outside the office, wondering what to do next, when Sister Monica Joan drifted out from the lounge into the hall. Her nose was buried in the book of Greek myths she held in one hand while the other travelled regularly from pocket to mouth and back again. There was a tell-tale sprinkling of powdered sugar on her habit from the bonbons she was eating, and Delia smiled a little. A love of sweet things was something they had in common._

_'Good afternoon Sister'._

_The elderly nun lowered her book a little, and as soon as she saw Delia her face split into a wide smile._

_'It is my visiting angel! I have been privy to vicious rumours that claimed you wished to abandon us for pastures new, but I refuted all such assertions. Such a journey was not in your chart. The planets are poorly aligned for travel and shall, I think, remain so; for you are needed here'._

_She beamed at Delia again and then added_

_'I am bound for the chapel. You shall come with me'._

_It sounded more like a statement than a question, and Delia felt a little prickle of panic as she tried to think of a way to decline gracefully. She didn't want to offend Sister Monica Joan by refusing her invitation, but she also couldn't bear the idea of kneeling to a God whose followers – her own_ parents _, had so readily abandoned her in His name. She felt she had experienced more of religion than she had any desire to for the time being, and even the little chapel of Nonnatus House felt like too much for her. Delia shook her head, her lips parted slightly in an attempt to form words to explain herself, but nothing emerged._

_When Delia did not join her at the doorway to the chapel, Sister Monica Joan looked back at her; her head cocked slightly on one side in a question._

_'I- I'm sorry Sister. I don't think I can go in there. My parents-'_

_She couldn't finish the explanation. When she continued to stand there in silence, Sister Monica Joan came back along the corridor to Delia and cupped her cheek very gently with one hand. She gazed deeply into her eyes and nodded, as though she saw the pain in her heart and understood._

_'You have been badly hurt, I think; and by those who ought to know better. What troubles lie so heavy on your heart that you cannot bear to bring them to the chapel?'_

_'Well... My parents left this morning. It wasn't a happy parting, to say the least. My father won't speak to me anymore because... because he doesn't want me to work, or to stay in London. He says that God wants me to go back to Canada with them and get married, and if I don't go then I don't- I don't deserve a family, here or in heaven. I just – I can't believe in that, and I feel angry with the very idea of religion for causing such a rift between us. It doesn't seem right for me to go into someone else's place of worship feeling the way I do'._

_It was coming out all wrong, and she half expected Sister Monica Joan to storm off in a huff – her moods were mercurial things at the best of times, and Delia had given her more than enough cause to take offence. But she didn't. She nodded sagely, as though it all made sense now._

_'My own parents believed I was failing in my filial duty by joining the order. They too claimed to be faithful to our Lord, but considered it beneath my station to devote my life to His service, as though there could be any higher calling for the faithful than that of a healer to those who most need care. My mother refused to speak to me for many years'._

_'How did you bear it?'_

_Delia's voice caught a little at the echoes of her own story in Sister Monica Joan's._

_'I had my Sisters, just as you have Nurse Mount. Family is not always found through the blood in our veins. Even as they snip our umbilicus at birth, some parents snip away at the ties that bind them to us until we have no choice but to leave them behind. There is a place for anger in that, and also a place for love, and love is ever the stronger. Do not be afraid of your anger or it shall fester and grow bloated on your unhappiness. You must feel it, and then release it'._

_Sister Monica Joan made a gesture as if releasing a bird from her cupped hands to demonstrate her point. This time when she moved back towards the chapel she did not try to cajole Delia, just paused in the doorway and waited to see if she would follow. After another brief pause, she did so._

_The chapel was dimly lit, and seemed somehow quieter than the rest of the house, even when both stood empty. It smelled of candle wax and old books, and a scent she thought was quite unique to churches, even ones that were just a chapel room in a larger convent. She had expected it to feel hostile, like a place where one came to stand on trial before a higher power, but it didn't. It was peaceful._

_For quite some time they sat in silence. Sister Monica Joan kept a firm and comforting hold on Delia's hand, but didn't push her to speak. She simply gave her the space to find whatever it was she needed in the chapel. Delia couldn't help comparing the actions of Sister Monica Joan and the other Sisters at Nonnatus House with those of her parents. These were women that had devoted their entire lives to religion, and yet it hadn't embittered them, or made them judge those they cared for the way her parents had judged her. In fact, she couldn't think of anyone in the world more kind and accepting than those that dwelt beneath this roof. Perhaps it had more to do with the sort of people her parents were than the God they believed in after all._

_A single tear slipped down her cheek as Delia allowed herself to truly believe for the first time that her parents were the ones in the wrong. They had been wrong about her, and about nain, and if He existed, she felt sure they must have been wrong about God too. The God her parents believed in seemed a cruel one, and one that could be made to back up anything her father didn't wish her to do. God as the Nonnatuns saw Him was all about kindness and compassion, about helping those less fortunate. Delia would never become a nun (she hadn't the conviction of faith for it, and besides, her heart yearned towards a much more human love than that which a nun could ever experience), but she did understand now how someone might find a home among people like these._

_Sister Monica Joan must have been watching her, for even as the tear dripped from her chin she said brightly_

_'You have need of a bonbon'._

_Even from Sister Monica Joan, this surprised her. She couldn't help remembering the dropped sweet all those years ago, and she shuddered to think what her father would have done if she'd eaten it in church._

_'Isn't it disrespectful to your faith? Sitting here, eating sweets in the house of God?'_

_'Nonsense. Sometimes what is needed is prayer and the comfort of God's presence. Sometimes we have more need of a dose of sugar. It is medicinal'._

_Before she could object further, Sister Monica Joan had withdrawn her hand from Delia's and replaced it with a strawberry bonbon, only slightly fluffy from its time in her pocket. As if to reassure her that it was alright, the elderly nun took three more sweets from her pocket and popped them, one after another, into her mouth. She got to her feet then, and spoke slightly thickly through her mouthful._

_'I must leave you now. The wings of time are those of a restless humming bird, and I am late for clinic'._

_'Oh goodness, I didn't realise you still worked at the clinic. Everyone else left some time ago... you won't be in trouble for being late will you?'_

_'Not at all. I am old, and, if the doctor is to be believed my wits are quite addled. I go where and when I please'._

_She gave Delia such a naughty wink then that she couldn't help laughing. Although she attributed it more to Sister Monica Joan than to God, she really did feel better for her visit to the chapel, and she rather wished the elderly nun was not leaving. She'd have liked to spend the afternoon with her - perhaps discussing the stories in the book of myths that now lay abandoned on the hall table._

_Delia waved her off at the door and then, without company, she found herself drawn almost unconsciously towards the room that had once belonged to Patsy. She told herself it was just a natural curiosity about the life her friend had lived before Delia had come to know her, but in fact being somewhere that reminded her of Patsy just felt safer, somehow, than anywhere else. As Phyllis had said, Trixie and Barbara's room smelled of cigarettes, but it also smelled of perfume and lacquer and the faintest hint of bleach, and although it wasn't Patsy's smell, it was close enough that she felt the dim echoes of home in the room._

_It would be more sensible to go to the spare bed in Phyllis' room as she had suggested, but she didn't. She walked over to Barbara's bed and sat down on the edge. Without quite deciding she was going to, Delia lay down and gazed across at Trixie's bed. This was the view Patsy had woken up to every morning. This was the place her cheek rested, on this very pillow. She closed her eyes, the exhaustion of the morning's emotion finally catching up with her, and for a while she dozed._

_She hadn't been asleep long however when something roused her. Was that... singing?_

_Yes. Someone not far away was singing 'As long as he needs me'. Singing it extremely well in fact. For a moment Delia lay still to listen, a small smile creeping onto her face as the mysterious singer hit a particularly passionate high note. After a line or two she couldn't resist any longer and padded as quietly as she could out to the corridor, hoping not to startle the singer into stopping as she followed the music to its source. It led her down stairs, past the chapel and to the kitchen, where a young woman in a habit was putting the finishing touches to a poster advertising a church Christmas concert at the Parish hall._

_Just for a second Delia looked around, sure she must have missed someone else in the room. Surely it couldn't be a nun sitting here singing show tunes? But it seemed it could be, for at that moment the woman seemed to sense she was not alone. Instead of its satisfying conclusion, the song cut off with 'as long as-' followed by a little 'oh' of surprise as she caught sight of Delia._

_She was blushing furiously, her mouth opening and shutting as if she wanted to explain but had no words even to begin. Delia tried to step in and smooth things over, suddenly sorry that she had followed the singing and given the poor girl such a shock._

_'Are you Sister Winifred? I think we met once before, but I was a bit out of it I'm afraid. It's nice to meet you properly'._

_The young nun managed a small nod of confirmation, but still didn't speak, her eyes swivelling to check behind Delia, as though she was afraid someone else would have caught her singing. Delia tried again to set her at her ease, coming further into the room and speaking gently._

_'I'm sorry I startled you. Phyllis – that is, Nurse Crane, told me I should come and speak to you if I had any problems, so I assumed you knew I was here. Then I heard you singing and- you have an absolutely lovely voice. I'm really quite jealous'._

_Sister Winifred seemed to be doing her best to pull herself together, although she still didn't quite meet Delia's eyes._

_'Thank you... I- I know it's silly. I thought I was alone in the house. It seems too quiet when there's no one home. And singing helps me to paint'._

_'You like 'Oliver' then? I've wondered about going to see it performed myself, since I read the book recently. It's got wonderful reviews'._

_'Oh, I ah- I wouldn't know. I don't go to shows'._

_But she spoke a little too quickly, her cheeks flaming red again with what seemed to Delia more than the embarrassment of being caught singing to herself. Before she could say she didn't think there was anything wrong with Sister Winifred going to see Oliver, she was hurrying on_

_'I heard Shirley Bassey singing it on the wireless. I just liked the song. It's not blasphemous. I'm not supporting... what I've heard about the plot behind that song. I- I like to see it as being about a young woman expressing her devotion to God's calling, in spite of what other's might say in this day and age about joining the church. It's... it's practically a devotional song, in the right light. It doesn't actually_ say _anything about him being bad, in the lyrics'._

_Delia thought briefly over the words of the popular song – Sister Winifred was right, seen in a different light it really could be read as a devotional song, of sorts. She smiled reassuringly._

_'I'd never thought of it that way, but you're quite right. Mind you I didn't think there was anything wrong with just singing songs from a musical. If I had your voice I'd never stop, even if I had to resort to advertising jingles!'_

_Sister Winifred laughed and then put a hand over her mouth, as if to stop the sound emerging. She picked her paintbrush up again, turning quickly back to her drying poster and dabbing at a bit she had already painted, going through the motions without actually adding anything further._

_Delia frowned a little at the back of her wimple. Had she said something wrong? For a moment it had seemed they were easing towards a comfortable conversation, but now they appeared to be back to square one. For a moment Delia considered just tiptoeing away and leaving her to her painting, but it was silly to spend the day carefully avoiding each other. If she left now the awkwardness would only grow bigger. Instead she pretended not to notice Sister Winifred's discomfort and went to stand beside her._

_What's that you're painting? It's very good, you're quite the artist!'_

_'It's to advertise the Christmas concert, for charity. We're all doing something for it. The cubs are doing a play, and there's carols, and a nativity from the Sunday school. Fred's going to be a Santa Claus for the children. I thought we could put the posters up in the Parish hall, and the church notice boards'._

_'That sounds lovely! I hope I'll get to come and see it all. Are you selling tickets?'_

_'No, it's donations on the door'._

_Delia felt encouraged – Sister Winifred might only be answering direct questions, but it was a start. Her cheeks were no longer burning, even if she still hadn't quite made eye contact._

_'Will you be performing at all?'_

_'I'm going to sing in Shelagh's choir, and I'm painting scenery with Barbara's Sunday school class. But I don't like being centre stage. Humility is part of my calling'._

_Delia nodded, racking her brain for further comments to keep the conversation going._

_'Whose been running the cubs since Patsy and I have been... indisposed? I hope they didn't have to miss any sessions?'_

_But that seemed to be wrong too, and Delia sighed inwardly as Sister Winifred glanced to her and away with fresh panic in her eyes._

_'Nurse Crane's been covering'._

_'Sister Winifred... are you quite alright? You just seem a little... anxious'._

_At last Sister Winifred turned to look at her, her expression now truly wretched._

_'I'm very sorry you were hurt Delia. Very, very sorry. I am'._

_At last she began to see what the problem might be. After so many people here reacting so naturally to her after the accident, she had forgotten to consider the possibility that it might not be that way for everyone. Until recently that might have bothered her, but no matter how awkward, nothing could be as bad as the show down she'd just had with her parents._

_'Is that what this is about? I'm quite alright now Sister, there's nothing to feel sorry about'._

_'But you have_ amnesia _'._

_Sister Winifred's voice was almost a wail, her fist clenching around the paintbrush so tightly it bowed a little, as if it might snap under the pressure. Delia reached out a hand to her sleeve, doing her best to be reassuring._

_'I do, but I remember a lot more than I used to now. A lot of my childhood's come back, and I think it's only a matter of time until I get the rest of my memories. It's not as bad as all that, and Patsy's been wonderful... is that really why you're upset? I didn't think you and I knew each other well before the accident'._

_'We didn't... that's exactly the problem. Delia...'_

_Sister Winifred closed her eyes, seeming to struggle with something. When she spoke again her voice was small, almost broken._

_'I found Patsy's bike in the road after the accident. And the scarf with her initials. You have to understand, Patsy is a good friend, and I thought she was the one who- I thought she'd been hurt. And I prayed. I_ prayed _that there was a mistake, that it wasn't her after all. And then Patsy arrived at Nonnatus House while we were trying to find out if her body was in the mortuary, and it was like a miracle. She was alive, and she was well, and for a minute I wasn't even thinking about the fact that you'd been hurt, I just thanked God that it wasn't her. And then last time you were here, talking to us all over tea... you were so nice and funny, and again today... and all I could think was that it was my fault. I prayed for this, and then when I heard what happened I wasn't even sorry. Not at first. I didn't know you, and it didn't feel real, but it does now and I'm so_ sorry _Delia!'_

_Far from making her angry, as Sister Winifred seemed to expect, Delia was actually relieved. It wasn't just that she was uncomfortable with the idea of talking to someone in her condition, Sister Winifred felt guilty, and that was something she could handle._

_'Oh Sister. Is that what you've been worrying about? You mustn't feel bad for praying that Patsy would be alright! I'd have done exactly the same. It doesn't mean you were wishing ill on me or anyone else, and if God is up there listening, I'm sure he knows that. He wouldn't do this to punish you. And I'm not angry with you either. You know that don't you?'_

_Sister Winifred gave her a slightly watery smile, but still looked a little worried._

_'Are you sure? I really do feel awful about it. I've been praying for you every day since, but it doesn't feel like enough'._

_Finally Delia reached out to hug her._

_'It's enough. More than enough. I'd like us to be friends. Maybe you could teach me some more of the songs from Oliver?'_

_'I... how do you know I know any others? I told you I'd just heard it on the wireless...'_

_But her tone was no longer defensive and she no longer looked tense. She was even hugging Delia back – carefully, so as not to drip paint onto her cardigan from the brush she still held._

_'Ah of course. That's a shame, I've heard some of the songs are very jolly'._

_Sister Winifred nodded solemnly, reaching out to rinse her brush._

_'It is a shame'._

_She began carefully writing out the price of admission on the corner of the poster in blue paint, but there was a small smile playing about her lips as she worked. After a moment or two she started singing, very softly:_

_'Consider yourself, at home._  
Consider yourself, one of the family,  
We've taken to you, so strong,  
It's clear, we're, going to get along...'

She paused a moment to glance at Delia again.

_'You won't tell on me will you? It isn't strictly speaking against the rules, but I don't think Sister Evangelina would see it that way'._

_'I won't say a word! At least, if you'll sing me the rest of that song...'_

_They spent another hour sitting side by side at the kitchen table, singing their way through 'Oliver' and painting posters until Mrs B came in and sent them 'out from under her feet' while she did the week's baking. But Sister Winifred did not use it as an opportunity to get away from her – in fact, she followed Delia through to the lounge without prompting and seemed to take it as read that they would continue to spend the afternoon together._

_It seemed clear they really_ were _going to get along._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's silly, but I feel the need to point out that I wrote this chapter in November, long before the Christmas special with Sister Winifred's dancing/the 'it's a devotional song' stuff. IT WAS MINE FIRST DAMN IT (well yes ok, obviously they'd filmed it months ago, but I didn't know about it when I wrote this). Cynicalrainbows can back me up on this one! Ok sorry, my little moment of hubris is over with now :P


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much everyone for your comments on the last chapter (especially my 'frequent fliers', it makes me extra specially happy when I see your names come up in my inbox!). Sorry this is going up later than usual, I've been staying with my girlfriend since last Thursday and forgot to take the most recent edits of this story with me, so I had to wait to publish til I got home (I got back about an hour ago). I hope it's worth the wait! :)

_The two of them were sitting on the floor of the lounge surrounded by the contents of the Christmas donations box (sorting baby clothes from toys from tinned food and checking for anything that needed cleaning or mending) when the warm smell of baking began to permeate through from the kitchen. Delia paused in the act of 'testing' a humming top (she had had one just like it for her third birthday and the whirring music of the brightly coloured tin made her feel pleasantly nostalgic) to take a deep, appreciative breath._

_'Something smells amazing. I'm so glad I came on baking day! What is that?'_

_Sister Winifred glanced up from the bundle of loose children's socks she was attempting to find pairs for to take an experimental sniff._

_'Hmm? Oh... Gingerbread I think. She must be getting into the festive spirit. Less than two weeks to go'._

_Any other time Delia might have taken note of how close it was to Christmas – what with everything else that had been going on she had yet to buy a single present, or even think of decorating the flat, but as it was she was distracted. It was that smell – warm and comforting and so, so familiar..._

_Closing her eyes, Delia took another deep, slow breath, trying to make the feeling clearer. She felt_ safe _, relieved of a tension she hadn't even known she was carrying. After a moment she put the toys aside and stood up._

_'Delia?'_

_'Keep going without me. I won't be long. I just... I think I've almost remembered something'._

_Sister Winifred didn't seem to catch the significance of 'remembering something' in Delia's case, and simply nodded before going back to holding up two socks to the light to decide if they were the same shade of navy. Delia didn't stop to explain what she meant, just followed the cosy baking smells out of the lounge. She found Mrs B, floury to the elbows, deftly shaping loaves of bread for the oven with her back to the door. She must have heard someone coming because without turning to look she called out_

_'If you're after snacks Frederick you can take an apple from the bowl I put by the door for you. Anything else is out of bounds until I'm done. And you can keep them great muddy boots of yours out my kitchen an' all'._

_'Ah...It's not Fred... and I'm not looking for snacks. I just wanted to smell your gingerbread. I wonder... if I promise not to get under your feet, do you think I might stay in the kitchen? I could do the washing up for you'._

_On hearing the unfamiliar voice Mrs B finally did turn around to examine the newcomer._

_'Who are you then? New midwife?'_

_'I'm Delia. And... no, not exactly. But I_ am _here to help. Starting with your washing up, if you'll let me'._

_'Well Delia, there's a first. All my years in this kitchen and not once has someone offered to do my dishes just for the chance to_ smell _what's baking. Are you sure you aren't thinking of stealing a few bits when they come out? You'd not be the first with a sweet tooth and sticky fingers'._

_'Of course I won't! The truth is the smell reminds me of something particular, and trying to remember what it is is like an itch at the back of my mind. I thought if I could be in here and smell it properly it would help. But I'll stay right over by the sink the whole time and not go near anything that comes out of that oven if it would put your mind at rest'._

_Mrs B raised an eyebrow at Delia's curious request (it was not quite as elegant as Patsy's eyebrow raise she noticed – the other one followed it most of the way up in a generic expression of surprise) but shrugged and gestured her over to the sink._

_'Alright then. You wash them mixing bowls properly mind, I don't want any bits of dried on dough left behind'._

_Delia grinned, elated._

_'Not a problem. They shall be as clean as the day they were purchased. Cleaner!'_

_She hurried over to the sink, cutting a wide arc around the table to demonstrate her intention to stick to the rules, even though it only contained raw dough at present. For a while the two of them worked in industrious silence, and Delia found she was actually enjoying herself. It might only be washing dishes, but it felt_ good _to have something useful to do, and Mrs B was the first person she had spent time with since her accident that didn't already know who she was and what had happened to her. It was refreshing to know that she was being seen as just another one of the various girls-underfoot - no different from Patsy or Trixie or Barbara, except that she was here washing pots without asking for free biscuits in return. And there was that smell. It was much stronger in the kitchen, and with every lungful Delia felt as though she was that bit closer to remembering something important._

_After a while Mrs B came over to see how she was getting on, holding up one of the largest bowls to the light and examining from every angle for missed smears. She 'hmm-ed' approvingly when she found it to be as Delia had promised. Her steady, uncomplaining willingness to work and high standard seemed to make her unbend towards Delia, for the next words Mrs B spoke sounded much more conversational than before. Maybe even friendly._

_'So you really are just doing this to smell the gingerbread?'_

_'Well, I want to be useful too, and doing dishes seems as good a way as any. But yes, it's why I'm in here and not sorting through the charity box with Sister Winifred'._

_'So you mean if I were to offer you a piece for all your hard work you'd turn it down, because you're here for the smelling and not the tasting of it?'_

_Delia looked up from the wooden spoons she was scrubbing, surprised._

_'Well of course not, if you were_ offering _that would be another matter entirely and I'd be delighted to accept. From what Patsy's told me your baking is second to none, and I'm sure gingerbread is no exception. But I don't expect you to offer, and you needn't feel obliged to. You're already doing me a favour just letting me be here, and I'm enjoying myself enormously!'_

_The grin she flashed then was so genuine that Mrs B looked mildly taken aback, as if she couldn't quite imagine anyone getting such pleasure from simply standing in a nice-smelling room and washing pots._

_'You're really that keen on gingerbread?'_

_'Oh I don't remember when I last ate any, I just never realised how nostalgic the smell of it baking was, it makes me happy just being near'._

_Mrs B shook her head a little in wonderment, but gave Delia a small smile before returning to her work._

_Delia noticed from the corner of her eye that she was preparing another batch of gingerbread mixture, even though she herself had just washed that mixing bowl and was fairly sure the ingredients had all been put away minutes earlier. But she followed Mrs B's example and didn't draw attention to what she was doing, continuing with her work as if there was nothing out of the ordinary about making a spontaneous second batch of biscuits when there was already a tray of them finished on the table and another in the oven._

_After that, every batch of baking was accompanied by its attendant tray of gingerbread – just a few biscuits each time. Enough that even when she moved on to baking the loaves, the tantalising scent of the ginger mingled with that of the bread and kept Delia's connection to whatever the almost-memories were alive._

_When at last the final loaf was in, and Delia had nothing left to wash but its loaf tin, Mrs B called her over to the table._

_'You're a good worker, and an honest one. I was out the room for a full five minutes in the larder, and there's as many pieces of gingerbread now as when I left. I'd say you've earned a reward'._

_She pushed a plate containing a large piece of the fresh baked gingerbread towards Delia, along with a mug of tea._

_'You've spared me my least favourite job, it's only fair. Especially after you complimented my cooking so highly'._

_Delia gave the tiniest of bounces on her heals, delighted. She truly hadn't expected to be given anything – Patsy had told her stories of Mrs B's protectiveness of her kitchen and her frequent need to defend what she was making from raids by Sister Monica Joan and (on occasion) Fred._

_'Oh._ Thank you _! It does look delicious'._

_She hurried to take her seat at the table, where Mrs B, similarly equipped with a biscuit and mug of her own, was already seated._

_The first bite was sheer perfection. The gingerbread was warm, and still slightly soft from the oven, and it tasted like being held by someone who loves you, and being tucked in safe at night. It was bed time stories and morning cuddles and the gentle hand that wipes away tears after you've fallen and skinned a knee. Delia gave a little sigh of contentment, savouring each small bite until the taste of it began to fade from her tongue before taking another, making the experience last as long as possible._

_Mrs B was watching her and gave a little chuckle at her expression._

_If everyone looked like you do when they took a bite of my biscuits I'd be here baking them every day. You are a funny one and no mistake'._

_Delia smiled back at her. She didn't mind being 'a funny one', and Mrs B didn't seem to mind it either._

_'Have you been working here long?'_

_'Oh, years and years. Longer'n all the present midwives and a few of the nuns'._

_'So you must know Nonnatus House better than almost anyone! What's it like being here?'_

_The two of them continued to chat while they sipped tea and nibbled their biscuits. Even when Mrs B got up to see to getting the final loaf of bread out of the oven and Delia returned to the sink to wash the pan, they didn't stop their conversation._

_Eventually though Mrs B glanced at the clock and sighed._

_'There'll be a troop of hungry midwives descending on this kitchen wanting their tea any minute. We'd best get these things put away or there won't be a crumb left by tonight. If you leave things out on the table it's as though they see it as a challenge to finish it off'._

_They had almost finished storing the baked goods and wiping down the surfaces, when Mrs B handed her a warm paper-wrapped parcel._

_'Your share. For your help. And your company. Feel free to come again next week if you've a mind to'._

_Delia nudged back an edge of wrapping to reveal six generously cut pieces of gingerbread nestled inside._

_'Thank you. Really, thank you! I'd love to come and help out again. Today's been fun'._

_Not one for drawn out displays, Mrs B just gave her a brisk nod before she left the kitchen, heading for the front door and home. Delia followed her out into the hall and slipped the parcel of gingerbread into her own coat pocket for safe keeping before returning to the lounge to explain her long absence to Sister Winifred._

_Unsurprisingly, the young nun had finished sorting through the contents of the charity box, and was now sitting with the pile of mending it had produced, sewing on buttons, mending dropped hems and darning socks before the clothes could be given away._

_Delia held out a piece of the gingerbread she'd been given as a peace offering._

_'Sorry I abandoned you for so long! I brought you back a gift from my travels as an apology for making you sort through the rest of the box alone. It's very good, I've tried it'._

_'_ Delia _, you didn't steal that from Mrs B's baking trays did you? You've taken your life in your hands doing that, she's actually given Fred a whack with her rolling pin for it before!'_

_'Of course I didn't! She gave me some actually, I didn't even ask for it'._

_At that Sister Winifred looked genuinely shocked, staring at the bit of gingerbread as though it were a piece of the holy cross._

_'But... but she never just gives it away. It's off limits until it's cooled and put away. Even then she generally tells us all to keep out of her kitchen until she's gone home for the day because she can't abide tripping over us all'._

_Delia smiled, gently pushing the biscuit into Sister Winifred's hand and moving to sit beside her on the sofa._

_'Well, I did her dishes, and she gave me some gingerbread afterwards as a reward. I think it was mostly because I didn't ask her for any that I got some. Either she was surprised into generosity by someone not asking, or it was a point of pride to get me to taste it and prove it was_ worth _asking for. Plus I think she really dislikes washing dishes'._

_Sister Winifred shook her head in wonder, taking a small, tentative bite of the gingerbread, as if she thought it might be a trick and any moment an enraged Mrs B would appear and whisk it from her hand. When nothing of the sort happened she smiled, relaxing enough to take a bigger bite._

_'It's still_ warm _. Ohh it tastes like Christmas, doesn't it?'_

_'It tastes like something... something important. I'm not sure what yet. It's like a word on the tip of your tongue. But I think I'll know soon'._

_'Wait... you mean- when you said you remembered something earlier, you meant... you meant you_ remembered _something. Something that was missing before? Oh Delia, that's so exciting! Your memories are coming back!'_

_Delia gave her a gentle smile, putting up a hand to stem her tide of enthusiasm._

_'It_ is _exciting, but it's probably only one or two events, it won't be everything'._

_Just for a second, Sister Winifred looked a bit disappointed, but in another moment her smile was back in place and she was saying consolingly:_

_'Well it's still a good sign. I'm sure you'll remember more soon, you mustn't worry'._

_Delia was not worrying. Any memory was a triumph, and she had long since stopped expecting everything to come back in a sudden rush. Even so she nodded agreeably to Sister Winifred's attempt to comfort her._

_'You're quite right Sister, it'll all come when it's ready. In the mean time, why don't you pass me some of that mending? The others should be home soon, but we can get at least some of it done before then'._

_It seemed they couldn't however, because barely a moment after Delia had got her needled threaded there came the clattering sound of several pairs of sensible shoes from the hall, along with the familiar mingled voices of her three friends._

_'We might as well stop. I'll finish these off before bed this evening'._

_Delia nodded agreement and put aside the little matinee baby jacket she had been about to sew new buttons onto, while Sister Winifred began folding away the things still to be mended into her sewing bag._

_'Do you mind if I leave you to put the rest away? I expect they're all tired after clinic, I'd like to get the kettle on while everyone's sterilising their instruments'._

_'Of course! I'm done anyway, I'll come through with you and see what we've got for them to eat. I know I always like coming home from clinic to find supper all ready for me'._

_The kettle was just beginning to whistle when the first of the clinic attendees came through, looking thoroughly chilled from the icy weather outside. There were a few not quite melted flakes of snow dusting Barbara's dark hair, and Trixie's cheeks were quite ruddy with cold. Delia felt a little leap of gladness in her chest when she looked past them to where Patsy was walking beside Sister Julienne. She looked angelic, her cold-tinted cheeks easily mistakable for a flush of excitement, her eyes bright with gladness for a good day's work completed. She was rubbing her icy fingers together in an attempt to warm them, and for a moment Delia imagined taking them in her own hands and breathing heat back into them, breath by gentle breath until she felt them relax against her palms._

_She did no such thing, of course. Her caring impulses could on occasion develop into rather odd notions when it came to Patsy._

_Instead Delia left a row of mugs ready beside the newly boiled kettle for the others and picked up the drink she had already made for Patsy. She knew how she liked it, and at what times her friend drank tea or coffee or cocoa. This was very definitely a Horlicks moment, and Patsy received her mug gratefully, immediately wrapping her half-frozen fingers around it and bestowing Delia with one of her best smiles (alright, so Patsy only had best smiles, but that still didn't spoil this one – it softened her whole face and made her nose wrinkle just the tiniest bit, and made Delia want to smile too)._

_'Thanks Deels, this is just what I needed. It's perishing out there, and it's started to snow'._

_'Ohh, how lovely, I hope it settles! It would be my first snow in London! Sort of'._

_'I for one hope it_ doesn't _settle. Our job is hard enough without wading through snow to get to a delivery'._

_Sister Evangelina had just stumped in, her nose almost painfully red, as if the the term 'biting cold' had been quite literal in her case. Snow probably_ did _make all their jobs a lot harder, but Delia couldn't help maintaining her wish privately that there would be at least one snowy day._

_Supper at Nonnatus House was a casual affair, with everyone helping themselves to bread and cheese and biscuits as they fancied rather than sitting down formally at the dining table as they had for tea when Delia had last been here. As soon as she'd filled her plate, Barbara came over to stand beside Patsy and Delia._

_'You are going to stay for a while aren't you? To celebrate?'_

_Trixie overheard the comment and hurried over to join them, hastily swallowing a bite of pickle to add:_

_'Oh yes, you simply must! We have to mark the occasion!'_

_'Occasion?'_

_'Why, your narrow escape from the land of snow and bears of course!'_

_Delia laughed. From what she had heard her say so far, Trixie seemed to simultaneously find Canadians rather glamorous, and to imagine their country to be a snowy wasteland of wild animals and hairy lumberjacks._

_'Well when you put it that way I suppose you're right!_ Can _we stay Pats, or are you too tired? If you'd rather just go home we could always come another night'._

_It gave Delia a slight thrill to be the one considering someone else's tiredness, rather than the one who had to be hurried home to bed. Patsy smiled and assured her she was not too tired, so the four of them finished their meals with as much haste as could still be considered seemly before making for the stairs. They were half way across the kitchen when Patsy turned, seeking out Phyllis, who was still making her neat way through a bowl of frugally sweetened porridge._

_'Are you coming up to join us when you're done Phyllis? We're celebrating Delia's continued residence in the country'._

_'I don't think so – I'm for a hot water bottle and a spot by the fire after that snow. I'm too old to be sitting in cold bedrooms hours before my bed time. I shall be there in spirit though I'm sure'._

_Trixie scoffed a little at that._

_'I don't believe it for a moment, you're not too old for anything! But it probably_ is _chilly up there, we shall have to think of some way to keep warm. Are you sure you won't come up and demonstrate your jive? That would be bound to get the blood moving!'_

_'No doubt, but I'm afraid you'll have to do the honours Nurse Franklin. Off you go now and let the rest of us have our suppers in peace'._

_Phyllis was quite right about it being cold upstairs, though not nearly as icy as it was outside. Having spent much of the day in the warm kitchen Delia hardly minded, but the others were still a little chilled, and Barbara gave a dramatic shiver when they got into the bedroom, hurrying straight to her wardrobe to find her thickest cable knit cardigan._

_'Come on then Trixie, find some music and lets get dancing. Something_ warm _'._

_'I was only joking about the jiving Barbara'._

_'Well I'm not! There's only so far even the cosiest of jumpers will go when you're already cold on the inside, and I'd rather a lively quickstep than jogging on the spot'._

_Trixie sighed a little, but went over to flick through her record collection without further complaint._

_'What on earth is warm music anyway?'_

_Delia moved across to help her look, quietly impressed by the extent of Trixie's collection._

_'Something summery. 'Oh I do like to be beside the seaside?''_

_'What do you take me for? I may have a lot of records, but I do have standards! I'm hardly likely to sit here playing_ that _while I get ready of an evening am I?'_

_Eventually they settled on something with a fast beat that would, as Trixie had said to Phyllis 'get their blood moving' and Barbara reached out a hand to Patsy, who was standing nearest to her._

_'Come on then Patsy, don't make me dance alone!'._

_For a moment Delia and Trixie just stood and watched as their friends attempted to find each other's pace and rhythm and fell into step. Trixie gave a little sigh._

_'Not so long ago I'd have been going_ out _to dance in the evenings, not jollying around my bedroom like a child. I can't imagine where it went wrong'._

_There was a hollow note in Trixie's voice that made the jokey comment chime with a sort of hopelessness, and Delia glanced at her worriedly._

_'Are you alright?'_

_'Oh yes, nothing to worry about. A touch of cabin fever and an unwelcome monthly visitor are putting me in a reflective mood, that's all'._

_Delia was not quite certain she believed that, but she had no right to push for more, so instead she nodded sympathetically and said_

_'I feel quite the same way myself sometimes - being housebound does get wearing. But we'll get out there again soon... and in the meantime Patsy and Barbara are perfectly lovely dance companions. It was wonderful fun last time'._

_'Oh, I suppose so. And as long as we're here with Barbara's Tizer I don't have to worry about-'_

_Trixie cut herself off suddenly and looked uncomfortably at Delia before finishing slightly lamely_

_'-about anything. Come on then, we might as well join in'._

_They had been engaged in a vigorous, if rather confined, quickstep for a few minutes when Trixie half-whispered:_

' _Do you want to dance with Patsy?'_

_Delia jumped guiltily, realising her friend had intercepted one of her frequent glances over to where Patsy and Barbara were foxtrotting._

_She blushed and looked quickly back to her own dance partner._

' _Sorry Trix, I didn't mean... it's just-'_

' _It's just that you missed Patsy this week and you haven't had an awful lot of time alone together since you got back and she's your dearest friend in all the world. It's alright sweetie, it's perfectly natural that you'd want to spend time in her company, I'm not the least bit offended'._

' _Well… but won't it look a bit strange if I just ask to switch?'_

' _Not at all, there's always a way Delia'._

_At that Trixie gave her a little wink and then raised her voice from the hushed, secretive tones she'd been using until now to speak over the music:_

' _I say Barbara, I've been meaning to ask you to show me how you do that last step, it looks awfully fiddly. Would you mind terribly if I borrow her for a bit Patsy? I want to be on top form when I eventually get to stop living like a nun and go out again'._

_Patsy raised an eyebrow a little at Trixie, but nodded and stepped back from Barbara._

_When she turned to Delia and gave her one of her characteristic lopsided smiles, Delia felt a little flutter in her stomach and her own smile waxed much brighter than she had intended in return. The rush of fondness she felt left her slightly breathless, and her heart was pounding in a way that suggested that perhaps the dancing had taken more out of her than she'd realised. It_ had _been a very quick quickstep. She wondered for a moment if she should sit down, but rapid pulse aside she didn't feel tired. Besides, Patsy was reaching out a hand to her, and although she couldn't have said why exactly, she really, really wanted to take it._

_There was something that felt inevitable about dancing with Patsy, as if they had been waiting to find a place to do so for… forever. She had noticed it on other occasions when they'd danced playfully round their lounge to whatever music came on the wireless, but this time it was even more poignant. Maybe because she had so nearly left for good, and, as Trixie said, because she had spent so long away from her best friend. Whatever the reason, there was definitely something different about this dance. For a while she actually forgot there was anyone else in the room but her and Patsy. She was aware of every point of contact between them. Every minute shift of Patsy's hand on her waist. Every rise and fall of the music that seemed to be keeping time with them as much as the other way round… then the song ended, and no new one came on to take its place._

_Delia blinked, disoriented. For a moment she stood still in Patsy's arms, and felt as though something were about to happen – a memory of a moment like this one perhaps, or maybe just a dream she'd had. Something was supposed to happen next... Then Trixie put on a jazz record, and the feeling eased. Delia laughed at herself, though it came out slightly shaky. It had been_ such _a day for emotional upheaval that she wasn't quite sure_ what _she was feeling anymore. Patsy was looking at her with a slightly anxious expression and she wondered what sort of face she'd been pulling a moment before. She smiled quickly, making a comment she hardly remembered on the music to cover her brief confusion and taking deep breathes in an attempt to calm her erratically jumping pulse._

_Delia danced the next song with Patsy as well, and it was not quite as intense as the last, though it still felt entirely different from the way it had dancing with Trixie. Then she took a turn about the room with Barbara, then Trixie again, and then they all collapsed onto the beds, quite warmed through and a little breathless._

_Now they were settled, Delia filled in Trixie and Barbara with an abbreviated version of her week, her showdown with her parents this morning, and finally the tantalising almost-memory this afternoon. Barbara in particular made a wonderfully satisfying audience, gasping in shock and giving little groans of distress in all the right places, followed by her sigh of relief when Delia reached her conversation with Trixie and the decision to stay, as if she had genuinely been waiting on the edge of her seat to find out the outcome. When she reached the part about the gingerbread it was Barbara who leapt off the bed and ran down to the kitchen to fetch a plateful. Although Delia only felt that same tantalising familiarity as before while they ate, it was nice to have the fresh biscuits to munch on while they talked, and Delia resolved to buy her own supplies of ginger the following morning to keep coaxing at the almost-memory. It was unlikely that any gingerbread she attempted would come out as well as Mrs B's, but anything gingery should do._

_The four of them kept chatting for a while longer, but whatever they had claimed earlier, both Patsy and Delia_ were _tired, and the hour was not late when they excused themselves for home._

_The dark December streets were bustling with the last of the commuters, heading home from work, or going out to start their night shifts, but somehow, amidst the still falling snow, it felt as though they were quite alone. Even though only the finest layer of white had settled so far, the snow lay on the world like a goose-down quilt, making it seem muffled and hushed. Neither of them spoke as they made their careful way along the slick streets, as if to make a noise would break some spell on the evening. In fact, the enchantment of it seemed still in place even after they had closed the door to the flat and begun the process of hanging up wet coats and scarves and thawing stiff fingers ready to change into pyjamas, and Delia did not bring up the strange feeling she had had as they danced together._

_It was cold enough in the bedroom that it felt quite natural to shuffle up closer than usual to her friend in the bed. They each had a hot water bottle at their feet, but the covers everywhere else felt chilly, and Patsy was irresistably warm by comparison. Besides, it was the first night they had spent in their own bed since Delia's parents had come, and she wanted to remind herself that her friend was really here. She was safe. She was_ home _._

_Considering everything that had happened, Delia had assumed she would spend the night lying awake, thinking over and over her last conversation with her parents and imagining them getting ready to leave the following morning. In fact, now she was here and slowly getting warm as she listened to Patsy's breaths growing deep and even, she found she could barely keep her eyes open._

_Without quite knowing she was doing it she had scooted over a little in the moments before she fell fully asleep, closing the last few inches between them and nestling against the warmth of Patsy's side, her cheek just resting on a soft plaid pyjama sleeve._


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, three Delia chapters in a row! I do try to keep the proportion of each of their perspectives in balance but the last two chapters had to be Delia. I tried writing this one from a Patsy perspective half a dozen times in as many different ways before I was forced to acknowledge that it just wasn't working. This bit of the story belongs to Delia, so Patsy just needs to wait patiently in the wings. We will have a chapter of hers soon, I promise.
> 
> Also: this chapter is split in two (for various reasons). I'm afraid there isn't a huge amount going on plot-wise in this bit, but there is fluff and I'll put the next part up VERY soon!

_In Delia's dream she was very young, and being cradled in arms that seemed able to envelope her entirely, held so close and yet so gently that she knew nothing could hurt her here. The warm smell of ginger was all around her, and she could feel the sweet melody of the person's humming vibrating through their chest where her head leant against it. The only trouble was, she couldn't open her eyes and look at them. Although her mind felt perfectly awake, her eyelids were too heavy to lift, as though on the verge of sleep. Delia was certain that if she could only catch a glimpse of whoever was holding her and humming, her memories would slip back into place._

_She struggled with them, but her eyes refused to obey her command even for a second. She tried to speak then, to ask the hummer their name, but her voice too betrayed her and barely a breath of sound came from between her lips. It seemed that whoever it was had seen her distress however, because the humming stopped and a voice, rich as warm honey and achingly familiar murmured her name._

_Only it sounded different. It was still 'Delia', but when this voice said it, it was though each syllable became a musical note, like her name was the joyful chorus to a song... It was definitely a Welsh voice, but it made the accent sound so_ different _to mam's sharp edges, or dad's dangerous softness. So much sweeter._

_Delia redoubled her efforts to get a glimpse of the person holding her and at last succeeded in wrenching her eyes open._

_And saw Patsy lying beside her, still fast asleep and with the marks of the pillow creasing her cheek. It was deeply disorienting to find herself so abruptly lifted from her dream into reality, and the disappointment at her failure to see the dream person was overwhelming. So absorbed was she that it wasn't until a single tear of frustration dripped from her cheek and soaked into Patsy's pyjama shirt that she realised how close she was still lying to her friend._

_All of a sudden Delia felt rather bashful. It had been one thing to cuddle up to Patsy in the dark, when the bed had been so cold and she herself half asleep, but in the growing light of day it seemed another matter entirely, and she was glad Patsy wasn't awake yet to see her neediness. She shuffled back until she reached her own (miserably chilly) side of the bed and rolled over to stare at the ceiling._

_She tried to recapture the feeling of her dream – if she could solve the puzzle now while the dream was so fresh she might not even_ need _the ginger. But it was no good. When she tried to recall the melodic sound of her name on the mystery person's tongue, all she could bring to mind was her mother's scolding tone._

_Her mother._

_She and dad would be up already, packing their cases and having an early breakfast before catching the train that would start them on their journey home. Mam had probably bullied the hotel staff into cooking them breakfast hours before the kitchen was supposed to open. In spite of everything, Delia couldn't help smiling just the tiniest bit at the thought. She pitied whoever had had to have_ that _argument with her mother, and hoped for their sake that they made good porridge._

_She could hardly believe they were really going to just leave today without coming to see her. They had travelled all this long way, and now they were going to turn round and go back without a word; as though they had come no further than the distance from Peckham to Poplar, and might drop by again in a few weeks time. Mind you, she could hardly believe they had been here at all. Now she was back at home, lying in her own bed beside her best friend, it was almost as though the whole week had been a dream. Could she really have been so close to moving to Canada with a pair of strangers? Had she_ really _believed that Patsy, the same girl that had been so caring and attentive since her accident, would just decide to wash her hands of the situation the moment a blood relation showed up? It all seemed too unlikely, even before taking account of her parents' strange behaviour. Part of her (the part that remembered mam assuring her that her marmalade cake was just too sophisticated for children to appreciate) wanted to run to the train station and wave them off. To tell mam she loved her and it would all be alright, to stare hard into her father's eyes until he had no choice but to acknowledge her, to force him to explain_ why _it was so wrong for her to stay in London..._

_But the bigger (more sensible) part of her knew that nothing good could come of seeing them again. Dad would either flare up in a rage or (worse) look straight through her, and mam would cry and perhaps waiver in her conviction to let go with good grace. Delia herself might let the anger she still felt towards both of them get the better of her. It would be too painful all round. All of it was painful. She_ hurt. J _ust thinking about them was too confusing, too conflicted to bear. She rather wished she hadn't been so quick to give up the comfort of snuggling against Patsy's shoulder, but it didn't seem right to move back over to her. Not now she was properly awake and Patsy was asleep._

_With some difficulty she resisted the temptation to reach out and poke her friend awake, just for the company. She needed a way to distract herself from dwelling on things she couldn't change. Patsy was good at that... but if their roles were reversed, Patsy would let her sleep._

_Grimacing slightly as her feet came into contact with the cold floor, Delia eased out of bed, pausing only to 'borrow' Patsy's dressing gown from where it hung on the back of the door on her way to the lounge. She had abandoned the letter she'd been halfway through writing to Joan when her parents had arrived. They were getting on well as pen pals and now she had remembered it, her lack of response was beginning to weigh on her conscience. For the sake of filling time until Patsy woke up, the letter ended up a full two pages longer than usual, although Delia refrained from mentioning anything about her near removal to Canada, or the argument with which she and her parents had parted ways. She liked Joan, but it seemed a friendship that was better kept simple. She didn't need to know._

_With the letter addressed, stamped and tucked into the pocket of her coat ready for posting, Delia wandered through to the kitchen. She was still feeling restless and agitated. Every few minutes her mind would start calculating how long it would be until her parents were out of London, or she would find herself running the dream over and over in her mind even as the details faded, trying to extract more meaning from it this time around._

_She gazed around the little room for inspiration, realising as she did so that apart from making drinks and the odd sandwich, almost all the time she had spent in here had been painting the walls, not actually preparing food. Patsy had always been the one that cooked for them. Of course that was because Delia wasn't supposed to touch the stove in case she had a seizure and set herself, or the flat, on fire... but she hadn't had a fit for weeks now. Surely it would be alright, if she was careful? She could repay some of Patsy's kindness and take_ her _breakfast in bed for once!_

_Yes. Now the idea had occurred to her Delia felt rather excited by it. The only trouble was what to make. Normally they just ate cornflakes, or made a couple of rounds of toast for breakfast, but neither of those would do as a treat. She poked about in the cupboards, half hoping to find something containing ginger, although as she had expected came up with nothing but the biscuits Mrs B had given her the day before. They weren't exactly breakfast food, but Delia arranged them on a plate all the same, resisting the urge to eat one immediately. She found a bag of oats, but dismissed out of hand the idea of making porridge. That would remind her too much of breakfasts with mam, and she was doing her best not to think of those just now. After a final circuit of all the kitchen cupboards, she settled for soft boiled eggs and toast soldiers, mostly because she'd discovered a particularly pretty little blue egg cup behind a stack of dishes, and rather wanted the opportunity to use it._

_It would have been nice to have flowers for the tray, she thought as she arranged eggs, toast, coffee and biscuits. She found herself glancing through to the windowsill in the lounge, as if it might have miraculously bloomed into a little garden in the night. But of course there were no flowers there, and Delia had to make do with a saucer of strawberry jam to add a splash of colour to her arrangement._

_Now she was laden with a breakfast tray, Delia felt herself entitled to wake her friend without guilt, and called out brightly as she nudged open the bedroom door._

_'Good morning sleepy- oh'._

_Her cheerful greeting ended in a small noise of disappointment as she stepped inside, only to discover Patsy up and mostly dressed. When she spotted the tray, Patsy's eyes softened and she gave a slow smile._

_'You made breakfast!'_

_She sounded so genuinely pleased and surprised that Delia's irrational annoyance at having the gesture spoiled eased and she smiled back, although there was still a hint of disappointment in her tone._

_'I made you breakfast_ in bed _. Only you're not. In bed that is'._

_Patsy glanced down at herself, as if noting her lack of pyjamas, then back up to the slightly crestfallen expression that Delia was attempting to remove from her face._

_'It would seem not... but no one has ever brought me breakfast in bed before. It seems a shame to waste the opportunity'._

_And with that, Patsy returned to their as yet unmade bed and climbed back beneath the covers (although carefully, so as not to rumple her meticulously ironed clothes). She smiled again and patted the place beside her on the mattress. Now Patsy was awake she felt justified in sitting close again, if only so she could steal fragments of toast, and tuck her half-numbed feet under her friend's legs to warm them up._

_'Delia, you're_ freezing _, where are your slippers?'_

_'Under the bed I think'._

_'They're supposed to be on your feet. You might as well tuck them properly under my knees now. I can't have my breakfast provider getting frost bite, or who would boil my eggs in future?_

_'You make an excellent point. It would be doing you a great disservice_ not _to put my icy toes on you'._

_Delia shuffled a little to get her feet more securely tucked under the warmth of Patsy's legs, before reaching across her to dunk the bit of toast she'd picked up into one of the eggs._

_'Just checking I boiled it right. It's so easy to overcook them and then they aren't dippy anymore, that's always such a disappointing moment!'_

_'What's the verdict?'_

_'...I might need one more dip, just to make sure'._

_'I'm beginning to wonder who you made this breakfast for, really. I think you just gave it to me as an excuse to eat it in bed yourself'._

_Patsy gave her a comical look, but nudged the egg cup closer to Delia's side of the tray, making it clear she didn't really mind sharing._

_As they ate Delia suspected that Patsy was very carefully not mentioning her parents or anything that might remind her of them, and she was grateful. For a while they talked about small things – the weather (horrible), Christmas (something they both agreed had snuck up on them all too quickly and they were not yet prepared for) and Patsy's work (enjoyable if one discounted the long cold cycle rides). At last Delia picked up a biscuit from the tray, turning it over slowly in her fingers and lifting it to her nose to smell before taking a bite. The action seemed to give Patsy permission to broach the subject, and she asked softly:_

_'Have you had any luck yet? With remembering whatever it is I mean'._

_'Not really. I think I dreamt about them – about whoever the person was, but in the dream I couldn't see them, I could just smell the ginger and hear someone humming to me. Then I woke up'._

_Delia couldn't keep the longing note from her voice, and Patsy half reached to take her hand before seemingly deciding better of it and saying:_

_'Hearing them's a start though. It shows the memories aren't lost, they just need a bit of a push to get them back properly'._

_'I know. I'm hoping ginger will be enough. I don't know what else I could use, since it's the only thing I really know about whoever it is. I_ think _they were Welsh, but I can hardly nip back to Pembrokeshire for a few hours and hope to recognise someone by there smell'._

_As she said it, she felt the enormity of her task loom impossibly around her, threatening to sweep her away like a tidal wave. Somehow she had to piece together the memories of a lifetime with only the barest hints and impressions to work from. Her hand tightened convulsively on the biscuit she was still holding as though it might hold her steady. It crumbled a little between her fingers and she had to suppress a hysteria that was half amusement, half despair at knowing the compass she was using to steer was something as fragile and insignificant as a piece of gingerbread. It was utterly ridiculous._

_She took a huge bite, trying to distract herself from the hopelessness that was threatening to snuff out her natural optimism. As soon as the ginger hit her tongue she felt once again that_ feeling _. It was like nostalgia, and more than nostalgia. In that bite she knew what it was to sneak a taste of raw biscuit dough from the bowl, and to bite into a biscuit so hot from the oven it burned your tongue, and to find one more biscuit in the tin days after you thought they were all gone – soft with age but still delicious. Those were real memories. They_ had _to be... But they weren't the ones she was looking for. She needed to be surrounded by that smell again. Brushing the last crumbs from her fingers onto the plate, Delia untucked her feet from beneath Patsy's knees._

_'Can we go to the market now?'._

_'Of course we can. Just give me five minutes to sort my hair out and I'll be ready'._

_In the time it took Patsy to finish her hair and makeup, Delia had managed to wash, dress, fill her purse from the pages of one of her money-books_ and _do her own finishing touches. Although to be fair she had rushed through everything with unreasonable haste, and after fumbling for a minute or two with pins and combs she had decided her impatient fingers would never manage a neat style. Instead she had left her hair loose around her shoulders, and was wearing only the barest touch of make-up. She stood ready in her coat and scarf, shuffling from foot to foot as she waited for Patsy to finish tweaking her hair into its usual neat work day style, doing her best not to breath in the cloud of lacquer that accompanied the task._

_It was almost half past nine by the time they reached the market, already bustling with noise and activity as women went about their weekly shopping trips. In spite of the grey skies there was a slightly festive feel in the air – there seemed to be barrows selling paper cones of roasted chestnuts on almost every corner, and many of the vegetable stalls had bunches of holly or mistletoe on sale alongside their more everyday wears, reminding shoppers that it was time to turn their thoughts to buying cranberries and oranges and sprouts for Christmas dinner._

_They passed a man selling Christmas trees, and Patsy paused in front of them for a moment, a thoughtful look passing over her face. Any other day Delia would have gone with her to look closer, and perhaps they'd have bought a tree there and then, then spent the morning choosing tinsel and baubles to decorate it with. Instead Delia's eyes were skimming over the various festive touches, dismissing turkeys and candy canes and walnuts alike as she sought – ah,_ ginger.

_Actually, there was a_ lot _of ginger around. It was certainly the right time of year for it, and Delia felt suddenly grateful that the memories hadn't been associated with strawberries, or ice cream, or something else she'd have no chance of purchasing in the depths of winter. As it was, by the time she was ready to concede that that would probably do (something Patsy had told her two purchases ago), Delia's shopping bag was full of more ginger than most people would buy in a year (possibly several). She had fresh ginger roots, dried ginger, powdered ginger, even a couple of boxes of crystallised ginger from the sweet shop._

_She had also managed to sweet talk a stall holder into writing her out a recipe for gingerbread on the back of the paper bag she had been about to put Delia's purchase in, although the woman looked highly bemused at the request; coming as it did from a girl buying three times the quantity of ginger she normally sold in a go. The moment the recipe was done she had handed everything over with an air of embarrassment, then turned quickly to deal with another customer, as though she thought it slightly indecent for a girl Delia's age to have to ask strangers for such information. Delia half wanted to stay and explain to her about the amnesia, and the memories, and mam being much too far away and anyway, not someone she was likely to ask for recipes at the best of times, let alone after the row they'd just had... But then she remembered that the stall owner neither knew her nor cared about her circumstances, and was probably already forgetting all about her as she weighed out potatoes for a harried looking young woman with three small children whining and grizzling in her wake._

_In the end she just hitched her bag of ginger closer to her chest and turned her feet homeward. They had some baking to do._


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the rest of that part, as promised! :)

_It was Patsy that brought back the memories in the end. At least, that's what Delia said to her later, as they hugged and toasted each other with celebratory hot chocolate that evening. The first batch of biscuits had been awful – barely recognisable as edible, they had been solid, dried out lumps that Delia had only just managed not to spit out in disgust. If it had been left to her then she would have thrown the recipe straight in the bin. In fact, she got as far as crumpling it into a tight ball of frustration – to come so close and then waste all that flour and sugar and precious ginger on this mess was intolerable! She wished she had taken the extra time to go round and ask Mrs Turner or Mrs Buckle for a recipe rather than trusting to one from a stranger. But Patsy had been determined to make it work. She smoothed out the paper bag and fetched a pencil to start making adjustments. It was certainly not an exact art (Patsy confessed readily to having very little knowledge or experience of baking, and any Delia had was buried wherever her as yet undiscovered memories waited), but by tasting carefully and deciding what seemed most obviously wrong with the biscuits, little by little the two of them adapted the recipe._

_Their third batch was edible. Their fourth... Delia could tell the fourth batch was different even before it was out the oven. It smelled like Mrs B's had. That rich, warm, homely smell that seemed to contain wood smoke and rose water and freshly dug earth; although none of those smells could possibly be coming from the oven really._

_The first bite was... well, the first bite was much too hot, and Delia had had to spit it out (as unobtrusively as she could, into a paper handkerchief). But even through the heat she could tell it was better. It wasn't_ quite _as good as Mrs B's gingerbread, but then she hadn't expected it to be. It was delicious though, and each (cooled) bite brought the memories just that bit closer. They put another few biscuits into the oven, then Delia settled down on the kitchen floor to immerse herself as fully as she could in the taste and smell of ginger._

_It didn't happen straight away, but the vague impressions she was getting slowly solidified into sounds and sights and smells. She was on her fifth biscuit when at last Delia looked up from the plate in front of her, a bubble of pure happiness rising in her chest as the puzzle pieces finally slotted together and she whispered_

' _Nain'_.

_Patsy looked confused, glancing at the tray of biscuits and seeming to perform a quick count of what was left, and Delia realised she must have heard 'nine' not 'nain' and was wondering how she had managed to eat an extra four biscuits without her noticing. Delia herself was smiling through the tears that had already begun to gather in her eyes as she clarified, her mind trying to simultaneously cling to every detail of the memories she had regained and search frantically for more._

_'My grandmother. She's who the ginger reminds me of'._

_The was a small intake of breath, and when Delia glanced up at her friend she was smiling back at her with an expression of uncomplicated delight. In spite of her evident excitement and curiosity however, Patsy didn't speak. She didn't break the delicate thread that held Delia's memories close, or demand details before she was ready to give them. She just reached for Delia's hand and gripped it tightly, letting her know she was there for her._

_For a few moments more there was silence in the kitchen, but for the sound of her own shaky breaths, but at length Delia found her voice._

_'Nain used to grow ginger... There was a big patch of one of her vegetable beds dedicated to it in the summer, and in winter she'd have pots in the kitchen... I remember the pots. Big old ceramic ones that were too heavy for me to lift. You never saw so much as she had stored down in her cellar. I loved to go exploring down there. She kept all her preserves and coal and things there too, but I liked the big box of gnarled looking ginger roots, because they were all different shapes, and they made me think of nain...'_

_Delia spoke in little snippets, saying things as she remembered them without any sort of order, just letting one thought trigger another. She closed her eyes on their own mint-green kitchen, the better to see her grandmother's shadow-draped cellar in her memories._

_'Her favourite treat was crystallised ginger from the sweet shop, but she chewed it fresh too. Her breath – her whole_ house _always smelled of it. Even during rationing when luxuries were hard to come by, we had the ginger. Nain would bake it into some of the week's bread so it would feel more like eating cake, and mix it into porridge to make up for the lack of milk or sugar. It's no wonder I couldn't smell it without thinking of her...'_

_Patsy had been still while she talked, but when the memory tailed once more into thoughtful silence, her friend moved from her place beside Delia on the floor and slipped out of the kitchen. For a moment Delia was confused, and a little sorry to find her hand so suddenly empty. Had Patsy had enough? Had she decided to leave her to her ginger and gone to find something more interesting to do?_

_But not even a full minute passed before she was back, carefully carrying the sheaf of photographs from Delia's book collection._

_'I thought these might help, now we know who the memories are about'._

_'Thank you'._

_That was all she could manage, though she hoped her expression was conveying the depth of her gratitude; not just for the photos themselves, but for how thoughtful and attentive Patsy always was to her. Her hand was trembling as she took the photographs from Patsy and spread them in a careful arc on the floor in front of her._

_There she was. This time when Delia looked at her grandmother it was hard to believe she could ever have failed to recognise her, and she felt an irrational stab of guilt for the time she had looked uncomprehending into that kind old face. She wished the photographs showed colours, so she could see the merry blue twinkle of her eyes, and the hair that would have changed slowly from a faded brown to properly grey as the pictures progressed through the years. Just as it had last time, Delia's attention caught on the photograph of the two of them in nurse's uniforms, smiling so broadly their faces seemed hardly able to contain their happiness. She put a hand unconsciously to the hair she had left loose in her hurry this morning, feeling suddenly glad for the unintentional echo of her former self in the style._

_'I was living with nain when this one was taken. That's why it's so different from the others'._

_The words were out almost before Delia had registered the truth of them in her own mind, so it half surprised her to hear them from her mouth. She picked the photograph up, once again reading the date on the back, then turning it to examine the background. This was nain's home. A place that had once come to feel like it was hers too. Delia felt a little pang of loss as she realised she'd never see it again, except in whatever memories she could regain of her time there._

_'I lived there for four months. Right through the summer from May to August, and it felt like forever. Like a whole new life. I didn't really understand why at the time, I just felt lucky to be staying with my favourite person in the world. Nain could be strict, but she was never, ever scary. I don't know where mam was...'_

_Delia trailed into silence for a moment as she thought, and then_

_'No, I do know. She told me she had to go and do her bit against the Germans. She was always very patriotic and she hated not being involved in anything, from church fundraisers to war work. At the time I thought she was actually going off to fight, and I imagined her bossing soldiers into clearing up their trenches and adding doilies and embroidered pillows. I only had the vaguest idea of what the trenches were, so it made sense to me then. But really I think she must have gone to one of the munitions factories. She was exempt from the conscription because of me, but when has that ever stopped mam?'_

_She smiled a little, half fond, half bitter at the thought of all the other things mam had been immovable on._

_'I think that was the perfect relationship for us. I wrote clumsy letters and drew pictures to send along with nain's every week, and mam wrote back once a fortnight. Once she sent a little packet of sugar for nain, and a tiny rubber doll for me, the size of my little finger. We got along wonderfully when we were 50 miles or more apart. And I loved living with nain. I spent my birthday there... I suppose that's what the doll was for, but I also got that costume. Nain made it for me to match hers. I don't know how she'd kept her uniform looking so pristine for 30 years, but she still had it, and it still fit. She made a proper doll's hospital for me and we played being nurses for_ hours _. You can just make out one of the patient 'beds' we made out of handkerchiefs in the background of the photograph, you see?'_

_She showed Patsy the white blur in the corner, smiling triumphantly to have unlocked its secrets._

_'A week after this photograph was taken nain sprained her ankle while she was gardening. We were alone in the house when it happened and I suppose she was just trying to keep me from being scared, but she told me to go and get my uniform on, then she talked me through wrapping it up with bandages while we waited for her neighbour to fetch a doctor. I was fourteen before I realised that she hadn't really done it on purpose, just to give me a chance to practise on a real live patient'._

_For a while Delia just stared at the picture, until tears blurred her vision and she was afraid they might fall and blot the image._

_'I wish...'_

_But she didn't say out loud what she wished because it was so impossible, and she didn't seem to have to. Patsy put an arm around her and pulled her gently against her side._

_'I'm so sorry Delia. She'd have been so proud of you'._

_She was crying properly now, torn between gladness at remembering details about her grandmother (her rose water perfume that shouldn't have complimented the smell of ginger that always clung to her but somehow did, the earth beneath her nails when she'd been gardening, the happy, throaty sound of her laughter) and an immense depth of grief at knowing that she would never see her in the flesh. Nain was dead. She would never be able to tell her all the good things in her life – about the flat, and her regained memories, and the friends she'd made. She would never be able to introduce her to Patsy, or ask her if she thought she'd done the right thing with her parents. It was so final._

_Patsy was still stroking slow, soothing circles into her back, and for a moment Delia felt the need to apologise for her outburst. But if anyone could understand how she felt now it was Patsy, who still carried the loss of both mother and sister heavily in her heart. Instead of the needless 'sorry', Delia found herself saying_

_'Do you know how she died? We already knew each other by then didn't we? Is there any way... do you think, if I'd been there, she might not have...?'_

_She couldn't finish the thought, but Patsy understood all the same, tightening her hold reflexively around Delia's shoulders as she answered._

_'No. Delia, no, there was nothing you could have done. She died in her sleep. A stroke. The hospital thought it would have been very quick, she wouldn't even have woken up. You told me after... after you got back from the funeral. There was_ nothing _you could have done, even if you'd been in the room with her when it happened'._

_She nodded silently, fresh tears spilling over at the movement. At least nain hadn't been in pain. Delia scrubbed her cheeks clean with the sleeve of her cardigan, not bothering to find a handkerchief. It was silly to be quite so upset. She had known from the first day she found the photographs that nain was dead, it wasn't a shock._

_'I just wish I could hear from her. Just to know she didn't feel like I abandoned her to come here. I suppose I'll get the later memories back eventually, but I don't know how long that'll be. I wish I could know now'._

_She didn't realise she'd spoken the thought aloud until Patsy surprised her by saying_

_'You can. Those letters. Do you remember? We found them in the book, with the photographs of your grandmother. You were saving them for when you could remember her. But I think it might be time to read them'._

_She had forgotten the letters. To remember them now was like being given a gift. A reprieve that didn't take away her grief but made the ache of loss a little less absolute._

_For a while she abandoned the kitchen with its baking gingerbread and went to sit on her bed with the letters – reading them surrounded by the smell of her grandmother's ginger felt too potent, too likely to lead to more tears. She knew Patsy would have stayed with her if she'd asked, but she let her withdraw tactfully into the lounge instead. This moment needed to be hers alone._

"My dearest Delia,

I am so proud of you! Thank you for sending me the photograph, you look so smart in your new uniform. I must confess that I've been showing you off to everyone, and they're all very impressed to hear that you're training to be a nurse in London, and in such a prestigious teaching hospital no less! They all agree you look ever so professional, and I've had half a dozen people recalling stories of you trotting round the village in your little uniform as a girl, looking after bruises and nosebleeds. Just this morning Wyn was saying she couldn't think of a better career choice for you. She says she hopes you won't find a young doctor to settle down with _too_ quickly as it'd be a waste to the profession, though she's sure you'll be turning heads. She sounded so proud of you you'd almost think you were _her_ granddaughter!

I'm doing splendidly, so although I appreciate your offer, I would much rather you use your time off to get to know the other nurses. You need to focus on yourself cariad, especially now, while you're all still new students. Make friends, go dancing, be _young._ You can't be nipping back to Pembroke every chance you get to check up on your old nain. I'll be here when you come home for Christmas, and that'll be soon enough. In the meantime, why not invite some of the others out to the pictures? Even a day's holiday. It's not far to Brighton by train, and I know you love the sea. You could invite that nurse you told me about – the blond one that helped you out with your cap the first day? I know she's senior, but it's always good to make friends with more experienced nurses, it'll be invaluable later. Anyway, I'll leave that to you, just as long as you promise faithfully not to spend any more time worrying about me".

_The letter went on to tell her about the activities of various friends and neighbours, as well as what nain herself had been getting up to since they had last spoken. It was the light hearted, casually chatty sort of letter of someone who was writing more because they loved you than because they had anything much to say. There was so much Delia still wanted to know about that time, but even just reading her grandmother's obviously genuine pride and excitement on Delia's behalf eased the guilt of having left her in the first place. She supposed she'd felt the same reluctance at the time, from the way nain had sent such insistent reassurances. Even so, Delia hoped she_ had _visited her. If not that time, then at least more than just once a year for Christmas. She hoped she had written every week, and exchanged phone calls from time to time, and generally made the most of what little time they had left together at that point. From the quantity of envelopes she'd kept in her book, it seemed they'd at least written regularly. She sent a small, silent thanks to her pre-accident self for keeping them, even if it_ had _taken a while to work out where._

_Settling more comfortably against the headboard, she reached for another letter._


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry some of the writing this chapter is a bit clunky, I think it took a while to get back in the swing of writing Patsy's perspective after all that Delia!

Patsy was unsurprised (though not entirely pleased) to find herself alone in the bed when she woke. A sleepy glance at her watch told her it was a little after 6am, and the now extremely familiar smell of cooking ginger seeping under the door told her Delia was making an early start. They were going to Nonnatus House again later so she supposed her friend was taking every chance she could get to pull out more memories before they went. With a small, regretful sigh she dragged herself away from the warm nest of covers, pausing on her way to the kitchen to step into her slippers and retrieve Delia's from where they had (as usual) been left forgotten under the bed.

There had been so many memories surfacing over the last few days that it really seemed Delia might be close to remembering _everything._ To begin with they had continued to centre around her grandmother, but as the days passed she had begun to recall other events around those times, spreading in ever broader waves until Delia was able to remember her childhood almost as well as anyone her age could be expected to. The previous day her first memories of being a teenager had surfaced, and Delia had set to preparing ginger concoctions with a will. It had come now to symbolise regaining memories generally rather than just ones relating to her grandmother, and whenever Delia wanted to remember something she would reach for a piece of crystallised ginger, or a ginger biscuit, or (on one occasion) a bowl of the ginger and mutton stew she had insisted was a good idea. When this was over Patsy doubted if either of them would ever be able to look at gingerbread the same way again.

'Morning Pats! Try the coffee. Ginger coffee should have been invented _years_ ago, it's delicious! At least it is with plenty of milk and sugar. It's like dipping a ginger snap in your drink, only without the soggy biscuit sludge at the bottom of the cup'.

Patsy accepted the proffered cup without complaint, exchanging it for the slippers she was still carrying. Delia smiled a little sheepishly as she put them on and Patsy noticed that her feet were white with cold. Again. She didn't say anything though, just rolled her eyes and shook her head fondly as she investigated the contents of the pot bubbling on the stove. Ginger porridge. That was a relief - definitely better than ginger bacon and eggs, which she had been afraid might appear at some point.

She said so, and Delia gave something approximating a laugh. It probably would have been convincing to someone less intimately familiar with her moods, but to Patsy the sound rang false and she looked more carefully at her friend. Delia definitely seemed a little subdued. She was evidently trying hard not to show it, enthusing over the coffee and humming a determined Christmas song under her breath as she stirred the porridge pot. But 'God rest ye merry gentlemen' was coming out positively melancholy, and Delia was frowning at the wisps of ginger-scented steam coming off their breakfast as if she were a fortune teller reading mysteries in its pattern.

'Deels?'

Patsy put down the mug and walked over to her, concern creasing her brow.

'Did you get back a bad memory?'

'What makes you say that?'

'I've heard merrier funeral marches…'

Delia sighed, turning off the heat beneath the porridge and scooping it carefully into two bowls, taking her time before replying as if she needed to work out what it was herself.

'It's just a feeling really. I don't remember anything bad _yet_. But I think the big fallout with mam and dad might not be far off'.

'Well… I know it will be horrible having to relive it, but it'll be a relief to know, won't it? You've been wondering about it for so long'.

'I suppose so. I mean, yes, it will be. But I suppose I just don't want it _right now_. It's almost Christmas. My _first_ Christmas, sort of. And I want to just think about that and be excited, and sing 'God rest ye merry gentlemen' and _mean_ it. I haven't even bought any Christmas presents yet Pats!'

'Alright… well, we can fix this. Why don't we put the ginger on hold? You don't seem to need it most of the time now anyway, and it sounds like you could do with a break from focusing on getting those memories back. And as for the Christmas shopping... I have to work today, but we could go tomorrow if you like'.

'We can't go shopping _together_! Quite aside from the fact that you bought all your Christmas presents in July, how am I supposed to buy something for you if you're standing right next to me?'

'I didn't buy them in July! It was October, and there's nothing wrong with being organised. I do see your point though… Maybe I could just go off and sit in a cafe for that bit?'

'I was actually thinking of asking Trixie to pal along with me. She mentioned the other day that she still had some present shopping to finish, and she strikes me as someone with excellent taste, so I might be able to weedle ideas from her if I get stuck. I think she said she was off on Tuesday'.

'She is. I suppose you could…'

Since the night Trixie had arranged things for Patsy and Delia to dance together, Patsy had not been entirely comfortable with the idea of leaving the two of them alone together. She didn't think her friend would really betray her confidence - not deliberately. But too many well-intentioned little nudges could easily lead Delia to guess that something was going on, and until she remembered or categorically decided her feelings for herself, Patsy had to make sure that didn't happen. Even so she couldn't exactly tell Delia she didn't want her to spend a day with Trixie - she had every right to see who she liked. So maybe she would just have to speak to Trixie first. She probably had no idea what she was doing after all.

'Yes that does make sense. And I suppose while you're doing that I should see about getting some decorations. I'm afraid I'd almost forgotten it was so close to Christmas'.

That wasn't exactly true. In the week Delia was with her parents Patsy had been almost painfully aware of the season, ruminating on the fact that it should have been their first Christmas together and now they might never have one at all. She supposed that with Delia gone she'd have defaulted to Nonnatus House for the day, feeling like the proverbial lost lamb confessing that it's adventure had been in vain and seeking shelter from the darkness outside. However jolly things might have been there, she had had every expectation of an utterly wretched Christmas, and had done her best to put it out of her mind entirely. She had certainly made no attempt at decorating the flat. There was no point – without Delia in it it would merely be a place to sleep anyway. And then Delia had come back, and there had been the confrontation with her parents, and then almost at once she had started regaining all those memories. For days the two of them had thought about nothing but ginger, and Delia's grandmother and the whole nest of memories she was triggering; then all of a sudden there was less than a fortnight left until Christmas and they didn't even have a tree.

She was glad she'd finally brought it up, because Delia seemed to blossom at Patsy's suggestion, giving the characteristic little bounce on her heels that indicated excitement.

'Yes! We should definitely have decorations. Holly and tinsel and a wreath for the door. And a tree! And stockings. Are we too old for stockings?'

'Not if you want one'.

'Perfect'.

Delia looked down at the bowls of porridge still waiting for them on the table and wrinkled her nose a bit.

'Would it be _horribly_ wasteful to have something without ginger in for breakfast?'

'Probably, but on this occasion I can't help thinking it's worth it. Cornflakes?'

They ate their blessedly ginger-free meal with an unreasonable level of enjoyment, and for what seemed like the first time in days, let their conversation drift away from the past.

'Joan sent me a recipe for her famous chocolate log in her last letter. Maybe now I'm putting the ginger away we could give that a try instead, to use up some of the excess baking ingredients we're going to be left with'.

'I'm not sure – do you think we're up to that? I know we've managed decent enough biscuits our last few tries, but isn't a chocolate log terribly fiddly? Rolling it up without breaking it and getting the icing to look like bark... I seem to remember Joan being such a whiz in the kitchen, she might just be overestimating our baking skills in sending you that particular recipe'.

'Well... maybe. I would like to have some cake in the house that has nothing to do with ginger though. Perhaps I'll write and ask her for something simpler. A basic chocolate cake. Or biscuits'.

Patsy almost offered to stop by the bakery on her way back from clinic to pick up some buns instead, but stopped herself. They had once been so excited about learning to be domestic together, and baking for themselves was as much a part of that as buying their first pint of milk. The latter Patsy had of course done alone while Delia was still in hospital, as she had paid her first bill and learned always to keep change at hand for the electric meter. But this was a milestone they could still pass together.

'Yes, that might be nice. Disastrous first attempt aside I did rather enjoy baking with you'.

Delia smiled, looking as though she too was keener on the idea of sharing the process than simply having the end result handed to her in a neat bakery box.

'I'll ask Joan then. Or maybe even see if she has a recipe book she might lend us for a week or two, I don't suppose she'd mind'.

'How is Joan anyway? You're still writing regularly aren't you?'

'Yes, we exchange letters every few days now. She's well. I think... maybe in the new year, it might be nice to meet her in person. If I asked her... would you come with me Pats? I know it's silly, but I think it would be easier if you were there'.

It was funny how Delia still seemed to have the power to make her blush with the simplest of statements and requests, but at her hopeful expression Patsy found her cheeks warming slightly.

'Of course I'll come with you Deels! It would be nice to get to know Joan a bit, and your other friends from the nurses' home if you decide to meet up with any of them'.

'Thanks Pats. I just... feel safer when you're there'.

She gave her friend's hand a squeeze, trying to suppress the rush of pleasure that came with Delia's admission. Sometimes it felt like they were so close... but that was a dangerous thought, and Patsy put it out of her mind as they continued to talk about Joan, and the hospital gossip she kept Delia up to speed with through her letters.

As they joked and laughed together, Patsy realised how much she had missed this. She would never have given up the chance to be the one to help Delia recall the details of her childhood of course, but as much as she had loved learning more about her past and seeing Delia growing slowly back into herself; it was nice to see her looking so much more relaxed again too. When she was focused on rebuilding her memories she might spend an hour fighting to recall the name of her favourite science teacher; or to remember exactly how she had come to be friends with the prim little first former who wrote stories about bunnies and forced Delia into being 'fairy daffodil' in her twee girly games even at the age of eleven. These struggles left her exhausted, and often sad because they would remind Delia exactly how far she still had to go. It was painful for Patsy to see her in such turmoil that she was unable to soothe away, and although she felt a little guilty about it, she was rather glad the enterprise was being put on hold for Christmas. Now Delia had made the decision not to grapple with her amnesia directly for a while, she was sitting more easily in her chair. She was laughing and teasing and making jokes again. The haunted look of someone who knows they have lost something precious had receded to the dimmest of flickers behind her eyes, like a gas flame turned down to its lowest setting.

It was so nice to just _be_ with Delia that Patsy was rather reluctant when it came time to get up and go to work; although of course she didn't say so. She waved Delia off at Nonnatus House with a smile and a cheerful farewell, looking forward with pleasant anticipation to their return home that evening.

She had barely caught up to the others on their way to the community centre however before her good mood had well and truly soured. Trixie and Barbara were talking earnestly, heads bent close together, but Patsy didn't join them. She allowed herself to filter to the back of the group instead, alone with the worries that had returned very firmly to the forefront of her attention.

**...........**

There was a slight frostiness between the two midwives as they boiled their urine samples side by side at the mother and baby clinic, and it had nothing to do with the sleet outside. Actually, Patsy was well aware that she was the one behaving a little coolly towards Trixie. Trixie herself just seemed tired, and a little withdrawn, as if the weather (or the smell), was getting to her more than usual. She kept shooting Patsy little glances across the room as they saw to their patients and performed routine tests, and each questioning look felt like a pinch at Patsy's already guilty conscience.

This wasn't Trixie's fault. Not really. At least... she had obviously meant well. It was such a small thing, really, but Patsy still felt betrayed. She had trusted Trixie utterly not to let on, and then she'd gone ahead and done it anyway, apparently prompted entirely by her own whim. What made it worse was that she really had enjoyed dancing with Delia. It had felt, for a while, as though there were no more barriers between them, and just for a second between songs, it had been as though Delia felt it too.

She had meant to take Trixie aside quite casually and ask her to be more careful, but now she was here, seeing her friend again for the first time since that night, she couldn't help wondering what well meaning act of potential destruction she would wreak next. A casual word didn't seem enough. She was angry, and hurt, and, yes, a little afraid. At first it had felt so nice when Trixie treated her and Delia like any other couple that she'd positively encouraged it, but the fact was, they _weren't_ , and never could be. All she could achieve by manipulating Delia into dancing with Patsy the way she had would be to make her suspicious of them both.

It wouldn't do.

Patsy waited until the last mother-to-be had made her slow, slightly waddling way out into the grim weather, and then took Trixie aside, volunteering both of them to tidy the back room in a tone that brooked no objection.

As soon as the door swung shut behind them, Trixie turned on her with folded arms, her voice fierce for all it was barely above a whisper.

'Does this mean you're going to let me in on what's made you so shirty with me today? At first I thought something had happened at home, but you seem fine with Phyllis and Barbara. It's just me getting your Nurse Mount treatment'.

Patsy had automatically begun tidying when they entered, physically incapable as she was _not_ to work when she was officially on duty, and she used the beakers she was washing as an excuse not to meet her friends eye as she came clean.

'I know I've been a bit off. I just can't help thinking about- look, the other night... I do appreciate the sentiment Trixie, but I told you – very clearly, I _told_ you not to manipulate things so that I was dancing with Delia. I didn't mean just that one time, I meant always. It's one thing if it happens naturally, but-'

Trixie's eyes widened as she realised what had been bothering her friend, and she shook her head incredulously.

'Is that all it is? You've got it all backwards - I didn't ask to trade partners for your sake, I asked because Delia kept sending you longing glances across the room. It seemed impolite not to. I'd have thought you'd have cottoned on by now'.

Patsy's heart gave a little jump and stutter of excitement at the unexpected news. She had never imagined that it had been anything other than Trixie taking matters into her own hands. She let the feeling last no more than a second however before she forced it away, folding her arms stubbornly.

'I know you meant well, but I'm sure you were just projecting onto her because of what you know about us. You must have been. Delia was probably confused that you apparently didn't want to partner her anymore. I just- I don't think you should have done it. It was too dangerous. I don't want you to do something like that again. I need to know I can trust you with this Trixie'.

'You think I didn't check first? Patsy, I caught her looking over at you a dozen times in the space of a single song, and when I asked her if she wanted to dance with you instead-'

'You _didn't!'_

Patsy felt a flush of mortification heat her cheeks, horrified by her friend's audacity, but Trixie pushed on regardless.

' _When I asked_ if she wanted to dance with you she said she did - her only concern was making it seem natural. I assured her that it was perfectly understandable to want to spend time with her best friend after so nearly losing you for good, and made the switch. And _nothing bad happened._ Barbara didn't jump up and start shouting about queers, the building didn't fall down, the nuns didn't come rushing in to accuse you of sinning before casting you out into the snow. Everything was _fine_ , so you needn't look so alarmed. There are worse things than getting your heart's desire. I ought to know'.

The 'I ought to know' registered dimly alongside Trixie's withdrawn state throughout the day, and Patsy felt a chime of concern for her. However, the part of her that wanted to ask was buried beneath confusion, and a painfully sharp hope that seemed to cut it's way deeper into her heart even as she fought to pull it free.

When Patsy continued to stand there in an attitude of frozen fear, Trixie sighed a little, but gentled her tone a degree or two from the irritation that had been evident a moment before.

'Patsy, this is a good thing. It's what you _hoped_ for. It's obvious Delia's starting to fall for you all over again, even if she doesn't know it herself yet. And you still love her, don't you? Being together _is_ what you want?'

' _Yes_. Of course it is'.

If nothing else, she knew that was true.

'Then I really don't understand why you're looking so miserable. You must have noticed other signs that she felt more for you than an ordinary friendship, it can't come as that much of a shock'.

Patsy nibbled a patch of loose skin on her lip, considering. She remembered waking up in the night to find Delia cuddled up on her side of the bed, her cheek against Patsy's shoulder. She remembered every look that had seemed to linger, the frequent hugs and comforting hand-squeezes that lasted to the point where they could almost (but perhaps not quite) be said to be holding hands. It was true that Delia never seemed quite so affectionate with Barbara and Trixie… but she also remembered how it had felt, the morning she'd seen Delia's painting and leapt to such a disastrously wrong conclusion. She couldn't do that again.

'No. I- she's just relieved not to be going off to Canada against her will. She has no idea'.

'But Patsy, come _on_ '.

'NO Trixie. Stop trying to convince me! I can't afford to believe that, because if you're wrong… I can't go through that again'.

At last Trixie's frown of frustration at Patsy's stubbornness eased slightly into one of confusion.

'Again?'

Patsy looked away, not wanting to get into the details of her own misplaced hope even with her best friend.

'I just can't, alright?'

Her voice came out so small and tired that Trixie didn't push the point any further, evidently accepting that there was nothing to be gained from it.

'Alright… well then... unless Delia explicitly asks me to swap so she can do something with you, I won't be the one to bring it up. Will that do?'

'I suppose so'.

'I'm not going to let you down Patsy, I promise'.

Patsy gave her the ghost of a smile.

'I know. I'm sorry for the accusation'.

'Forget it. Just _ask_ me next time instead of going all ice maiden. It's quite disconcerting, especially when- it's just disconcerting'.

Patsy felt her forehead wrinkle into a frown.

'You're not alright are you Trixie?'

Just for a moment, her friend seemed to deflate, and Patsy caught a glimpse of the intense struggle going on beneath Trixie's relaxed exterior. It shocked her, just a little. She hadn't realised quite how low Trixie had sunk since they'd last spoken privately. She had been finding it hard then certainly, but her outlook had been positive, and she'd seemed to be managing. Now, when Trixie dropped her mask (if only for the barest of moments before she pulled expression back under her tight control), she looked exhausted, and sad, and somehow at once a frightened little girl and a woman of a hundred years or more, who had seen all the world had to offer and found only desolation.

Without thinking about what she was doing, Patsy reached out and hugged Trixie, tight and long. Trixie made no move to hug her back, but although her arms stayed limply at her sides, she tucked her head against Patsy's shoulder, her face hidden in the fabric of her uniform. For a long moment they stayed still, and Patsy suspected that Trixie's make up might need seeing to when eventually they parted. She waited a couple of minutes before speaking again, hoping to give Trixie time to recover first. Even then, her tone was rather tentative.

'Trix... what's happened? I know it isn't easy, but you seemed to be doing so well. How has it come to this?'

At last Trixie pulled back from the hug, returning to the Bunsen burners she had been collecting with a half hearted air.

'I don't know. I suppose I have too much time alone to ruminate. About Tom. About my-'

she seemed to struggle for a moment before saying the word aloud

'My addiction. About you, a little bit'.

' _Me_?'

'I adore Barbara, I really do, but it's not the same. When _we_ were sharing a room I had a built in best friend right there, and even though we didn't often go into all this deep feelings nonsense, I knew you'd _get_ it. And when I had a bad day we could have a proper fight over something trivial and get it all out and done with. I can't snap properly at Babs, it feels like I'm kicking a puppy. She's too _nice_. I can't fight with someone who won't fight back'.

For a moment Trixie glared at her across the instruments they were packing, and then Patsy said very softly:

'I miss you too Trix'.

'You've got Delia-'

'And you've got _me_. Beatrix Franklin, if you think you can be shot of me that easily you can't have been paying much attention. I am exceedingly stubborn'.

She waited until the faintest trace of a smile tilted the corners of Trixie's lips, and then said

'Let's do something together. Just the two of us. Anything you like'.

'I've already promised to go Christmas shopping with Delia on my next day off'.

'What about an evening? Delia's been dying to spend more time with Barbara again anyway. And Sister Winifred. The two of them have some secret together – apparently they really hit it off before Delia went off to help Mrs B with the gingerbread. She'll be perfectly happy anyway. We could go out'.

Trixie was obviously tempted, but her look of hope was still tempered with despair.

'We can't go out. Where would we go? I can't go to a pub, or out to a dance hall. Did you ever notice how much alcohol there is at Christmas time? Sherry and brandy and mulled wine. It's everywhere. Even in the _pudding_. And even if we did sit there surrounded by it all and have a lemonade, I couldn't stand all the tipsy goodwill. There's nothing worse than people being jolly when you feel miserable'.

Patsy could see her point. Even the cinema was mostly showing specially chosen films for Christmas, but there had to be something.

'Alright, leave it with me, I'll come up with some options. Maybe a gallery that stays open late, or an evening class or something'.

Trixie raised a disbelieving eyebrow at the idea of the two of them taking cooking classes or learning French.

'You've not been talking to Phyllis have you? She's got an idea that we should all go to language classes. I'll say the same to you as to her Patsy, I had quite enough of French at school, I've no desire to go back to trying to remember why 'morning' is feminine, but 'midday' is masculine. Let alone all those fiddly little dashes over the letters'.

'Not a language. But there must be something. Why don't we check the notice board before we go? I'll come to anything you like. If there's really nothing you fancy I could just drop Delia at Nonnatus and we can spend the evening at the flat. I could attempt to cook. It would probably only be partially inedible'.

At last Patsy was rewarded with an only slightly reluctant laugh.

'Poor Delia, I don't know how she's not wasting away being cooked for by you'.

'Poor _Delia?_ You only say that because you're blessed with never having eaten one of her ginger and onion pasties'.

Trixie pulled a face at the idea, then linked her arm through Patsy's as they left the store room – everything belonging to the clinic now cleaned and packed away ready for the following week. Although she hoped none of the others would notice, it felt like such a marked difference to Patsy to be stepping out arm in arm where they had entered so stiffly. She had gone from feeling ready to shake Trixie to wanting to hug her, and Trixie's own mood seemed... certainly not merry (it would take more than a brief chat for that), but not quite as locked in as it had been before.


	31. Chapter 31

Patsy had been entirely in earnest when she'd said she'd go to any class Trixie chose, and had even managed to sound moderately enthusiastic when she announced her choice (at least once she'd ascertained that Trixie was not, in fact, joking). She was having more trouble keeping her bright expression in place now they were actually here though. It felt odd to be back in the hall in the evening, with mats on the floor replacing the curtained check up bays she was used to seeing, and a leotard instead of her comfortably familiar uniform. She felt self conscious about that even before she'd taken off her coat.

There was a group of women up at the other end, some performing warm up stretches, others chatting in little clusters or perching on the tables at the edge of the room while they waited to start. There was a certain... perkiness about them that she thought Trixie would find utterly insufferable, but a glance in her direction revealed nothing but the slight nerves of a new member and a sort of pleasurable anticipation.

Keep fit classes. Now she thought about it it made perfect sense – Trixie had always been encouraging her to join in hula hooping, or performing arm-toning exercises using borrowed tins from the kitchen as weights; but somehow she'd just never pictured her wanting to attend classes. That might just be her own disinclination for waving her arms and legs about in time with a lot of other women of course; but Patsy couldn't help thinking wistfully that they'd both have been better off if there'd been fencing advertised. Or netball. Or badminton. At least with sports there was a _point._

But the woman that seemed to be in charge was calling everyone's attention, and Trixie was giving her a pointed 'hurry up' look, and there was nothing for it. Patsy resigned herself to her fate.

It wasn't too bad actually. If she ignored the fact that there were fifteen other women twisting and flapping and jogging along in time with them she could almost pretend this was just another of Trixie's bedroom regimes. At least here neither of them had to worry about knocking things off dressers or annoying the other residents with stomping steps. And it did seem to be helping Trixie. She was throwing herself into the exercises with a fervour that bordered on desperation, pushing herself harder, farther, faster than anyone else, as if she could defeat her cravings through mere physical exhaustion. She didn't look happy, but she had lost the blank, automaton look that had masked all her real emotions. It was a start.

When the class leader ('Shirley') called for a break and announced that tea and biscuits were available, Patsy flopped gratefully down onto her mat. Trixie bounced down lightly beside her. She was breathing heavily and shiny with sweat, but the tension was gone from her posture.

'Thank you for suggesting this Patsy. It's brilliant isn't it? I had my doubts when you first brought it up, but it really does help to just get out of one's head for a while. I think I'm going to keep coming'.

Patsy didn't point out that she hadn't exactly suggested _this_ , or say that she was rather less enthusiastic about the idea of coming back every week herself, but some of her reservations must have shown because Trixie laughed.

'It's alright Patsy, you needn't look so trapped. I'm truly glad you came today and I want us to keep making an effort to spend more time together, but it doesn't have to be here. I can tell this isn't really your thing'.

'I can't imagine what you mean by that! But... yes, now you mention it I _might_ find I'm busy on the evenings this runs in future. It'll be such a shame to miss it, but you know, duty calls...'

She smiled jokingly, but then added

'But if you do want me to come I will do. It might not be quite my scene but it doesn't matter. I'd rather come with you than leave you to struggle'.

'No need. I think I'll rather like having something that's all mine. I bet one or two of the girls here even have proper music tastes'.

'Oh lord, if we have to do exercises to the sounds of a man singing falsetto I won't cope'.

Trixie laughed again at her appalled expression, and Patsy tried to remember when she had last heard Trixie's laugh sound this genuine. It had been a while.

'I don't suppose you're going to like your Christmas record much then. You should have said earlier you don't like falsetto'.

'You _wouldn't'._

_'Probably_ I wouldn't, but you'll just have to wait and see won't you?'

With that Trixie rose gracefully to her feet again and returned to her mat, just in time to begin the second half of the class. She didn't look back, but Patsy felt oddly reassured. Squabbling about music had almost become a code between them that meant all was well. If Trixie was invoking it she must be feeling more optimistic about her recovery.

When Shirley finally announced the end of the session, Patsy was one of the first to reclaim her coat, hurrying over to where the outdoor things had been left as soon as could be considered polite and buttoning it gratefully over the excessively form-fitting leotard with an inward sigh of relief. It wasn't as though she was especially body conscious in the normal way of things, but a leotard really was so _very_ close fitting it made her feel half naked. Trixie had no such reservations however, and as soon as Shirley had begun rolling her mat, she had hurried up to her and started talking animatedly about the exercises and what she could do in between classes to improve. She seemed to feel no desire to cover her leotard, or indeed to hurry out and buy some cigarettes, which was Patsy's impulse now she had discovered the empty packet in her pocket. There was something about strenuous exercise that made her crave nicotine particularly voraciously, and her fingers kept returning wistfully to her (currently useless) packet of matches.

It took only a matter of minutes to roll up the mats and put the hall back to rights, and with nothing productive left to do, Patsy loitered awkwardly by the wall to wait, thinking she should probably go and add her own thanks to Trixie's, but knowing that if she did the contrast between her friend's genuine enjoyment and her own forced politeness would be painfully obvious. Instead she pretended to be absorbed in reading the various posters pinned to the notice board, thinking that Sister Winifred probably could have done a better job on most of them, if she'd been given the chance. It seemed an age before Trixie said her goodbyes and came over to join her, a slightly sheepish expression on her face.

'Alright, I suppose we had better get going before Barbara and Delia send out a search party. Have I kept you a horribly long time?'

'Well, I'm not turning into a pumpkin just yet, but it's a close thing'.

'It was the coach that turned into a pumpkin, not Cinderella. And I don't think much of your glass slippers'.

Patsy looked down at the comfortable, practical lace-ups she had worn for the occasion. She had to admit that they were not the stuff fairy tales were made of.

'Well. It's not midnight either, but I _am_ positively gasping for a smoke so it feels like it could be by now. Have you got any?'

Trixie handed a cigarette over with a smile.

'There you are Cinders'.

'Bless you Trixie. You just proved fairy godmothers are real'.

'Fairy god _sisters_ , please! Less of the mother, I'm barely older than you are'.

It felt lovely to just be them again, and now she had nicotine making its way comfortably through her system she was even able to find the fact that they were walking the streets in leotards (hidden under long coats, but even so) rather amusing.

She looked wistfully through the chip shop window as they passed. Now her immediate need for a cigarette had been satisfied she was noticing how hungry she was and the smell was amazing. But Trixie caught the direction of her gaze and pulled her past firmly.

'No Patsy, we'll have supper at Nonnatus House. It's no good undoing all that hard work by immediately going for fish and chips'.

'Fine. But there'd better be cake. I don't see the point of doing all that exercise if not to let us eat cake without feeling guilty'.

'Toned muscles, flatter tummies, shapely calves. I could go on'.

'Does that mean you don't want any cake?'

'… Well. Maybe a small piece. But only because I happen to know there's half of a rather marvellous cherry sponge hidden in a tin behind the coal scuttle'.

They arrived in the kitchen to find Barbara and Sister Winifred engaged in making what seemed to be home made Christmas crackers. Barbara was wearing a slightly lopsided paper crown that one of them had evidently cut out for the occasion, and Sister Winifred was writing out little slips of paper that must presumably be the jokes. They had both stopped singing 'away in a manger' mid-verse when they heard the door open, and were looking a little sheepish to have been caught at it.

'Hello, you two are back early!'

Patsy glanced at her watch.

'We're not. We're actually a bit late. You must be having fun! Where's Delia got to? I'd have thought this would be right up her street'.

'Oh, Sister Monica Joan dragged her off about an hour ago. She wanted her help with... well, I'm not sure to be honest. She was in one of her cryptic moods. Something about divine astrological occurrences and Venus and... well, you know what Sister Monica Joan's like'.

Patsy frowned a little.

'Maybe I should go and check Delia isn't trapped against her will. Sister Monica Joan can be rather insistent'.

'Oh don't worry, I took some cake up a while ago as an excuse to check on her, she seemed to be having rather a nice time'.

Trixie gave a dramatic groan from over by the sink, where she had until then been filling the kettle. At Sister Winifred's assurance she abandoned it and hurried over to the coal skuttle.

'Not the _cherry_ cake? I was- I mean, _Patsy_ was looking forward to a slice of that!'

'Sorry Trixie, I'd have kept you a piece back if I'd known! I think there are some lemon puffs in the biscuit tin though'.

The space that had until recently held the cake tin was indeed empty, and Trixie sighed as she returned to making mugs of bournvita.

'It's a good thing that class put me in a good mood or I'd be quite irate. This place seems only ever to have cake so it can disappoint you with its being gone before you can have any. What are you two _doing_ anyway? I thought we already had Christmas crackers?'

Patsy and Trixie sat down at the clear end of the table, and Patsy picked up one of the joke slips Sister Winifred had been writing, reading it aloud for Trixie's benefit.

'Who told Mary and Joseph to go to Bethlehem?'

She looked up, frowning slightly.

'I know Christmas cracker jokes aren't typically hilarious, but I'm afraid I don't get this one at all'.

'It's not a joke. The answer is Caesar Augustus, for the census'.

When Patsy still looked mystified Barbara continued.

'We thought it would be a nice way of doing a Christmas quiz for the Sunday school. Each child gets a cracker, and if they can answer their question they get to wear the paper crown and eat the peppermint. If not then I give them another question from my list of spares until they do get one right. I don't want anyone to be left out at Christmas'.

Patsy returned the slip of paper to the slowly growing pile with a little smile. The children really were lucky in Barbara. How many Sunday school teachers would even think of this, let alone go to the effort of actually making Christmas crackers for them all in her free time?

'You are kind Barbara. I don't know how you think of things like this!'

Barbara shrugged, looking modestly down at the cracker she was rolling as she answered.

'Oh it isn't difficult. Christmas was always the biggest event of the year in my house. Bigger even than our birthdays. I think my father thought the birth of Christ a much more important event than the birth of any ordinary child, even if they were his daughters'.

She spoke without rancour, but Patsy wondered what it must have been like to grow up playing second fiddle to the embodiment of ineffable perfection her father had dedicated his life to serving. It didn't seem to have made her bitter.

'Are you and Delia joining us for Christmas lunch Patsy?'

Sister Winifred's voice broke through Patsy's contemplations and she nodded.

'I think so. Sister Julienne invited us weeks ago, and Delia said she'd like to come. Besides which I'm not sure my limited cooking skills could stretch to a proper Christmas dinner, especially not given how small our kitchen is at home'.

'I'm so glad! Do you have anything planned for the rest of the day? I know Sister Julienne told you to have it off, since you're officially only here part time and it seems a bit hard to leave Delia alone all day'.

Patsy put down the piece of bread and cheese she had been about to bite into and sighed. This was something she'd been worrying about for days now. She wanted to make Delia's first Christmas with her something really special. Something she could surprise her with that would be worth remembering for a lifetime. The trouble was, she wasn't any good at it. It had always been Delia that had enthused about the festive season, and Delia that had promised to change her Scrooge-esque view that the whole season was more stress and bother than it was worth. Until she had come to Nonnatus House, Patsy had generally spent Christmas on the wards, and then gathered round the kitchen table in the Nurses' Home with whichever of the other girls had opted for Christmas duty or drawn the short straw; smoking, drinking sherry (at least those of them that didn't have night shifts pending) and working their way without much enthusiasm through the Christmas quality street tin. Occasionally one of the more earnest among them would tune the wireless to the Queen's speech. As a rule it was not terrible, but certainly not a template she wanted to use for her first Christmas with Delia.

'I haven't got further than getting decorations actually. I thought I'd do that while Trixie and Delia go present shopping, but as for the rest... what does one _do_ on Christmas day to make it jolly?'

Trixie's expression remained neutral, and Patsy knew that left to her own devices she'd probably be right there with her with the cigs and chocolates, but both Barbara and Sister Winifred looked shocked and slightly bewildered by the question.

'What about when you were younger? Didn't you have any Christmas traditions?'

Patsy shrugged, noting with a certain amount of satisfaction that for once the question did not immediately put her on the defensive.

'Well, my father spent most of the time out in Hong Kong, where his business is. He was hardly ever home in England, so most years I stayed at school over the holidays. It was rather a strict Catholic school and Christmas was considered more a time for prayer than jollity. We had the usual Christmas dinner and so on, but there was no sort of effort to put on games, and there were only ever a few of us staying right through. It was rare that you knew the others all that well'.

Sister Winifred looked thoroughly saddened by the description, in spite of the fact that Patsy had neglected to mention the 'Christmas boxes' her father had sent sporadically, which rarely contained appropriate gifts for a school girl. Her first school Christmas had seen her receive a wooden crate containing a whole raw turkey, packed around with carrots, potatoes, oranges and walnuts. She had been absolutely mortified, and had had to fabricate a story to her bemused school mates about a mix up; suggesting that the sweets and gifts that had been destined for her must have ended up being sent to her father's cook, who would certainly be equally surprised.

It had taken months to live the incident down, but it would doubtless have taken longer still had she told the truth – that she had no idea whether the box was sent to her by mistake, or whether her father truly believed it an appropriate gift. It was perfectly possible that he had taken the complaints she made in about beastly school dinners (more an attempt to pad out meagre letters home with safe subjects than any real distaste for the food) as a hint, and decided to send her a Christmas dinner more to her liking. He was well meaning but did not always think things through anymore; and perhaps both of them having lived so long on the brink of starvation meant that he took the idea of her being hungry at school rather too seriously, without knowing how to deal with it practically. It was as if his mind had witnessed such pain in Changi that it could no longer settle in one place for too long without feeling once more the need to run and hide.

After the year of the turkey, Patsy had made a habit of opening any parcels she received in private; accepting the reputation for being a bad sport it gave her as a necessary inconvenience (packages were greeted with much interest by everyone, regardless of their intended recipient, and it was usual to open them in the common room where everyone could get a look). It was lucky for her that she had, because in Patsy's O level year her father had sent her a large bottle of whiskey tucked among the more usual treats in her Christmas parcel. She had had to hide it quickly under her mattress, then smuggle it out under her regulation navy blue dressing gown very late at night, heart pounding lest she should be discovered with this most forbidden item of contraband.

Although they came with their own share of complications, the truth was that Patsy had always preferred the years she spent at school to the ones she and her father spent together at home. The one occasion he had tried to make a proper family Christmas for them had been the worst. Forced good cheer, a mountain of presents that might have been appropriate for the child she had been before the camp, but certainly weren't for a teenager; and a vast Christmas dinner that the two of them couldn't hope to put a dent in. It had only served to remind them both of the empty spaces at the table that should have been filled with the other half of their family. The quiet chink of their cutlery as they struggled for something to say to each other was a stark contrast to the laughter and excitement that Grace could have brought to the table. They had never attempted it again.

With some effort she managed to pull her mind back to the present, her tone bright and unconcerned in an attempt to stem Sister Winifred's pity before she felt the need to actually say anything about it.

'Maybe you three could help me come up with ideas for how to make Christmas special for Delia this year. It's the first Christmas she'll remember as an adult, so I'd like to make it nice'.

This seemed to work, as Sister Winifred gave a little bounce of excitement in her chair.

'I know! I know _just_ what you should do! Take her to see Oliver! She... ah... she just happened to mention to me the other day that she wanted to see it. It would be the perfect Christmas treat!'

She was smiling delightedly over her clasped hands, when Barbara pointed out as gently as she could that they probably wouldn't be running it actually on Christmas day.

'I expect the actors and the theatre staff all have the day off, though I know it's easy to forget when we all keep working...'

Sister Winifred looked so crestfallen that she added quickly

'It was a really lovely idea though. Maybe we could see if it's running again in the new year, we could all chip in and buy Delia tickets as her Christmas present'.

They all agreed it was a good idea, but Patsy pointed out that it still didn't solve the question of what she should do to make Delia's Christmas day special. She looked hopefully at Barbara.

'Babs, you seem to be our resident expert on all things festive. Do you think you could help me come up with things? I'd be willing to offer heavy bribes in the form of confectionery'.

'My one weakness. Alright, I'll do my best. I certainly wouldn't call myself an expert though'.

'Says the girl making Christmas crackers in a paper crown'.

Trixie rolled her eyes as she said it, but it was accompanied by a fond smile that showed she too found Barbara's dedication to her Sunday school class rather sweet.

Pausing only to pull a face at her room mate, Barbara turned her full attention to Patsy, and they got down to the serious business of planning Christmas day.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second longest chapter in the fic, so buckle in! But since the actual longest was Patsy talking about the internment camp, it seems only fair that the next longest should be packed with Christmas fluff, don't you think? :)
> 
> Also after seeing sad lonely Delia (not to mention Phyllis and Susan and Lenny and all the rest) last night a hearty dose of fluff is what we all need, I'm sure!
> 
> As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts on the chapter!

_Even before she was fully awake, Delia felt utterly happy. The week had passed in a blur of comfortable busyness and festive activities. On Tuesday she had spent a very pleasant day present shopping with Trixie and felt as though the two of them were really becoming friends in their own right; stopping for tea and having an intense discussion on the merits of various film stars on the way back to Nonnatus. It had ended in several hilarious impressions, a re-enactment, an utterly appalling attempt at an American accent and a new-found delight in Trixie's company. Wednesday had seen Delia and Patsy getting festive, trimming the tree Patsy had acquired for them the day before and putting up decorations all around the living room, until even Sister Monica Joan would have been satisfied with their efforts. Friday had been the day of the Christmas concert, and Delia had finally been able to meet the cubs, who were rather boisterous but utterly endearing. After their play (a rendition of 'A Christmas Carol' which, under Phyllis' stern guidance, was surely worthy of the West End) the boys had presented her with a Christmas card a addressed to 'Akela Patsy and Nurse Busby', and had wanted to know when they would both be coming to cubs again ('will you do lighting fires again? Pleeease Nurse Busby!')._

_Christmas Eve had been a quiet day so that Delia wouldn't be too tired for the main event, but for once she hadn't minded staying in. Actually it had been lovely to just_ be _with Patsy, reading and playing games and talking endlessly about anything and everything. She had quite forgotten for most of that day that she had amnesia, so absorbed was she in Patsy's company. The (now retired) ginger had helped with that. Although the most recent several years of her life were still a blank, she remembered enough to feel that she really, properly knew who she was now. She might not remember her old friendship with Patsy, but she remembered all they had shared together since her accident, and she knew herself, and that made it easier to feel as though she belonged here._

_Now she was waking up feeling warm and comfortable under the covers, and pleasantly anticipating the day she was about to spend doing lovely things with her favourite person in all the world. Delia was fairly sure it was impossible to be any happier than she was at that moment._

_And then of course, she opened her eyes._

_At some point between Delia falling asleep last night and opening her eyes this morning, Patsy had transformed the bedroom into a Christmas grotto. There was tinsel draped liberally across the headboard, and every place that could hold them seemed to have been decorated with a paper chain, a bunch of holly, or a trimming of tinsel. On top of their usual bed spread was a large swathe of red material, onto which someone (presumably Patsy, unless she'd bought it that way) had tacked cut outs of stockings and Christmas puddings and stars. A trail of tinsel stars led from her side of the bed towards the door, making it clear which way she should go when she got up._

_Delia smiled delightedly as she gazed around in wonder. She knew Patsy had been arranging surprises for Christmas, but she had never imagined it would be so thoroughly planned, or so much of it. She wondered how Patsy had thought of it all – there was a sort of whimsy here that wasn't quite her style. Actually it seemed more like something Delia herself might have done, although she certainly wasn't complaining. She got up without a hint of her usual sleepy reluctance to leave the warmth of the blankets behind, keen to see what else Patsy had in store._

_Fastened to the doorknob with a length of red ribbon, Delia found a short note in her friend's handwriting:_

"No slippers = no presents!"

 _Delia actually laughed aloud then. Now_ that _was Patsy's style. She recrossed the room to fish her slippers out from under the bed and put them on, and then after a moment's thought went again for her dressing gown. The note hadn't actually mentioned it, but Patsy didn't like anyone to be too cold, even if she didn't always say so. It was one of the ways she demonstrated without realising it how sweet she was beneath her stern nurse veneer._

_Unable to wait any longer, Delia hurried out into the lounge._

_'Ohh'._

_It was a soft little noise, and one she was hardly aware she was making as she stared. The room was the image of a perfect cosy Christmas – the tree fully trimmed and surrounded by neatly wrapped presents, stockings pinned up above the heater (the nearest approximation they had to a fire place), candles and oranges and a bowl of walnuts arranged on the table. All this she had expected however – most of it she and Patsy had put up together after all. What snagged her attention and held it was Patsy herself._

_She was standing beside the tree, looking rather sheepish. She also looked utterly lovely. Stunning even. Patsy was wearing a green dress that Delia had never seen before. It fell in soft folds to her knees, clinging at the curve of her waist and scooping at the neckline to show off her collar bones and shoulders. The colour complimented her deep red hair and creamy skin tone perfectly, and the shape flattered her so well that Delia wondered how her friend could ever bear to wear anything else._

_She was beautiful._

_Delia had always known Patsy was beautiful of course, but somehow in her series of winter woollies and oversized pyjamas she had grown used to her beauty, so it didn't often catch in her chest this way. She blinked, and realised that the dress had not been what she was supposed to notice. Patsy was also wearing a red santa hat, and had trimmed her slippers with silver tinsel to give the impression of pointed toes._

_Patsy was shuffling a little, her cheeks turning pink as Delia continued to stare in silence._

_'I- ah, I was supposed to be a Christmas elf. Barbara said you'd like it. She gave me these for you-'_

_Patsy raised a hand and Delia realised for the first time that she was holding a tinsel halo and a pair of cardboard wings. Looking properly embarrassed now she continued:_

_'I told her I didn't think it was quite the thing. But... she insisted it would be a... a nice sort of throw back to childhood for you... um... I'm sorry'._

_It made sense now. A lot of the little extra touches had Barbara's fingerprints on them. Rather than being disappointed to discover it hadn't all been Patsy's own innovation; Delia felt deeply touched as she realised that her friend had gone so far as to hold a consultation on how to make Christmas special for her, even though the more childish aspects of festive merriment didn't quite come naturally. Now she knew what Patsy's childhood had been like, she had no illusions about why that was._

_'Oh Pats. Thank you. It's... it's the kindest thing...'_

_She felt at a loss for words. Instead of continuing to struggle with the sentence she went over to Patsy and gently pulled the hat off her head, donning it herself and then taking the halo and wings from her hands._

_'These ones should be yours. I always knew you were an angel. Didn't I say so, right from the beginning? And you doing all this for me proves it. It's lovely Patsy, I can't tell you how lovely'._

_She thought about taking another step closer. Close enough to reach up and crown Patsy's fiery curls (she had even curled her hair!) with the halo. Close enough to rest her fingertips against Patsy's cheek and whisper her thanks again. Standing so close in fact that her lips brushed Patsy's ear and the words were as much breath as sound, to convey the depth of her gratitude in a way that felt impossible without closing the space between them... but instead she stepped away and laid the halo and wings down beneath the tree._

_'Which is exactly why I don't think you should wear these. I know you'd feel silly and just be doing it for me, and this is your Christmas too'._

_For some reason Delia was feeling just a little bit shaky, and cast her eyes about for a graceful way to change the subject from the issue of costumes._

_'Besides, those stockings are looking full...'_

_Patsy gave her a grateful smile, saying more with the look than she could have done with words._

_'So they are'._

_Neither of them acknowledged the fact that they had each filled the other's stocking the previous evening, and Delia actually did feel almost as excited as if she really believed it had been filled in the night by a magical old gentleman. More so, possibly, since she had every expectation that Patsy knew her tastes better than Santa Claus possibly could._

_Without discussion they completely ignored the perfectly good sofa and arm chair waiting three feet away, settling instead on the floor beside the Christmas tree._

_Delia was thoroughly enjoying unwrapping the little gifts that one traditionally found in a stocking (a packet of mint humbugs, a Terry's chocolate orange, a box of coloured pencils – a whole rainbow to replace the three she'd had to borrow from Patsy; and a bar of ginger scented soap, for when she wanted to feel close to her grandmother) when she came across a slim rectangular parcel, about the size of a pocket book. She opened it quickly, expecting perhaps a small volume of poems, of the sort she and Patsy had practised together in the early days after her accident. Instead she unwrapped what appeared to be a little leather wallet. The leather felt buttery-smooth and expensive to the touch, and when she turned it over she discovered it had her name embossed on the back. Just her name, with a small 'x' beneath it that might have been a kiss, or simply decoration. It was a lovely thing, but she had a perfectly good purse and given how slim it was this one certainly didn't seem likely to fit a great deal of change; so for a moment Delia didn't realise the importance of what she was holding._

_Then she opened it, and found herself gazing into the twinkling eyes of a most familiar face. The wallet wasn't designed for cash at all – instead there were three spaces into which photographs could be inserted, so that when the wallet was fastened they could be carried safely in a pocket, without fear of damage. Patsy had put Delia's favourite (and most fragile) photograph of her and her grandmother in their nurses' uniforms into the first space, leaving the others empty so she could choose what else to put in for herself._

_For a moment she couldn't breath. It was such a perfect, thoughtful present – so exactly what she wanted. Now she could carry the picture with her the way she apparently had as a student nurse, only this time without fear of it being damaged. The wallet certainly hadn't been bought in October either (there was no way Patsy could have anticipated how much something like this would mean to her that far in advance), and Delia spared a moment to wonder when she had managed to get it without her realising. Actually, it was so unlike anything she'd seen before that she wondered if it might be custom made. It certainly wasn't just another stocking filler._

_'Oh Patsy, thank you so much! I almost don't want to open anything else. This is enough'._

_She hugged the leather booklet to her chest, and then put it tenderly aside so she could hug Patsy instead. Unable to think of any other way to express how much it meant to her, she kissed her friend's cheek and gave her an extra squeeze as she murmured:_

_'_ Thank you _'._

_Patsy looked a little flustered then, her cheeks glowing pink as though Delia's lips had been a touch of the sun at its summer zenith, and she mumbled a 'you're welcome' in a voice that sounded rather breathless._

_Delia released her quickly, worried that she might have inadvertently cut off her friend's air supply with her exuberant hug, but before she could ask if she was alright, Patsy was saying_

_'We should probably have breakfast now, there's bound to be a huge spread for lunch at Nonnatus, and it would be a shame to eat too late to fancy it'._

_Delia let the blush pass uncommented – Patsy seemed prone to such moments of discomfiture sometimes and it was usually best to simply pretend not to notice. She would explain them when she was ready, if she wanted to._

_'That's probably a good idea. I'll clear all this away, if you put the toast on?'_

_They had considered buying something special for their Christmas breakfast, but in the end had decided to keep things simple. They had a new jar of home-made jam for their toast, and an orange each to add a festive touch. Both had felt that anything too filling or elaborate would be bound to reduce their enjoyment of the bounty of rich foods they would encounter at Nonnatus House._

_Patsy seemed happy to disappear into the kitchen to recover herself, and although Delia did proceed to clear away the wrapping paper and gather up their stocking presents to carry through to the bedroom, she had another reason for wanting to stay behind while Patsy made the toast._

_As soon as the lounge was tidy, she went to her bookshelves and took down the washing machine manual. She had looked through it so many times since her first discovery that there was no need to search. She flipped immediately to the page containing her favourite photograph of Patsy, transferring it without hesitation to the central slot in the photo wallet._

_The other space was harder, and Delia dithered over her choice for long moments before taking it out of its concealing book and slipping it into the third free slot. In it her mother gazed down at her infant self with an uncomplicated look of love and wonder. The picture made her feel wistful and sad and happy all at once, but for all its bitter-sweet associations, it felt right to include her mother here. For better or worse, she was one of the trio that had most shaped Delia's life._

_That done, Delia opened her wardrobe. Patsy was looking so lovely today that she wanted to make an effort herself. She tried on several outfits before settling for the blue dress that Patsy had recently told her brought out the colour of her eyes. Not that she wanted Patsy to notice her eyes particularly of course. But the act of dressing up made a day feel immediately special, and what better day for that than Christmas?_

_Breakfast was an unhurried affair, enjoying the deliciously festive taste of the spiced plum jam, and eating their oranges slowly to savour their juicy tartness._

_'I thought we might go for a walk after breakfast. I know it's cold, but it seems a shame to stay cooped up inside playing board games again. I thought after all the weeks of being too unwell to do anything else you'd prefer to be out'._

_'That would be lovely'._

_Delia was rather surprised that it was Patsy who had suggested it. She_ did _want to go out, but she had expected to have to cajole Patsy to agree. For the most part she was a lot more relaxed about such things now that Delia was no longer particularly fragile, but when it was so cold and slippery out she usually seemed less keen to risk it, especially since the afternoon was bound to be full of activity with the others._

_On the way out the door she noticed the rather bulky bag over Patsy's shoulder._

_'Pats, what's in the-'_

_'It's a surprise. You'll see soon'._

_She gave Delia a little smile and added_

_'This part of the day was my idea. Strictly no cardboard wings in evidence'._

_And with that Delia had to be content, despite her intense curiosity. But Patsy seemed to be thoroughly enjoying setting up a surprise for her, so she bit her tongue on the questions she longed to ask and followed her friend into the street._

_Patsy seemed to be trying hard to keep up the pretence of a casual walk, while all the time being very keen to get somewhere. She kept slipping into quick striding steps before apparently remembering herself and slowing to an amble, finding something to comment on as if admiring the way the sun sparkled on the frost was all she wanted from the day. Delia smiled to herself and played along, well aware that it would be worth it when they reached their destination._

_She managed to keep firm in her resolve not to ask questions until they arrived at a pair of locked park gates and Patsy stopped in front of them._

_'Um... Pats?'_

_Patsy grinned ecstatically as though she were performing a magic trick, and pulled open the gate, just wide enough for, say, a couple of reasonably slim girls, to squeeze through the gap._

_Just for a moment Delia had no idea how she'd managed it, and then she noticed that the lock was still in place. The gates were held closed with a loop of chain padlocked together at the ends, but it was a long loop, and allowed quite a bit of room to open before it held._

_'We're going in? Won't we get in trouble?'_

_'I doubt it. The park keeper won't be working on Christmas day and there's no one around to see us. Besides, we won't be doing any harm'._

_Delia followed Patsy quickly through the gap and drew the gates fully closed again behind them, but couldn't contain her shock enough to keep from commenting._

_'I never had you down as someone that would know ways to break into a park! How did you find it?'_

_'Actually I didn't._ You _found it. You left your coat in here once after a picnic. When you came back later to fetch it the gate was locked. So naturally you squeezed in to go and get it, and decided it was rather nice having a whole park to yourself. We came here together once...'_

_Patsy's voice trailed off into a slightly dreamy silence that gave Delia the impression that she was lost in memory. She wanted to ask what the previous visit had involved to give Patsy that look, but something about it made her pause. It seemed too intimate somehow. Which was strange, since it was her history too. But it felt as though it wasn't. Not yet._

_Instead of pushing for more, Delia nudged Patsy and said with mock impatience._

_'So, when do I get my surprise?'_

_'Ah yes! It's just over here'._

_Patsy took her arm and led her through a small avenue of trees, then cut across a frost-laced lawn before gesturing grandly at a frozen lake. Well, more of a pond really, although it was certainly a very_ big _pond. Delia gazed out at it obediently, waiting for something about it to become significant. The sun was glittering prettily off its surface, but the sun was glittering prettily off_ every _surface. She waited another minute for it to become clear, and then looked back at Patsy._

_'It's... very pretty?'_

_She was trying to sound enthusiastic, in case this really was all there was to it, and Patsy was expecting her to be excited. Her friend laughed, and held out the bag she'd brought._

_'You can look in here now. I think it'll make more sense then'._

_For the briefest moment Delia's confusion deepened as she saw what was in the bag._

_'Shoes?'_

_But before Patsy could answer she pulled one out, and her eyes returned to the pond with new understanding._

_'_ Ice skates! _Oh Patsy, can we really?'_

_'I rather think we should, now we're here!'_

_'This is the best Christmas present ever. I still can't quite believe it's real. Pats... you're so perfect. I don't even know what to say'._

_Patsy smiled at her, her cheeks pink with cold and excited pleasure at Delia's response to her idea._

_'Say you'll dance with me!'_

_'I'd love to'._

_Actually, ice skating was harder than it looked, and Delia's movements on the ice were less akin to dancing than to the sort of careful, wobbly propulsion of a baby taking its first assisted steps. But Patsy held her hands and skated slowly beside her while she got the hang of it, progressing gradually from pretty much holding her up and dragging her along, to steadying her with both hands while Delia skated a little awkwardly around the circumference of the pond, until at last they were skating side by side with long, gliding movements. They were still holding hands though._

_It was nice, holding Patsy's hand. Neither of them were wearing gloves, and Patsy's hand was keeping hers warm; their fingers laced together in a hold that felt so comfortable she might have done it a hundred times. For a while they didn't speak – it was some time before Delia could relax her concentration enough to risk it without ending up in a heap on the ice. At last though, she felt sure enough of her footing to say_

_'Where did you learn to skate Pats? It can't be something you have much opportunity for in the middle of London. Or do you sneak in here every time the pond freezes over?'_

_'I haven't skated for years actually. I learnt as a teenager. It was one of the few things my father and I did together that felt_ normal _. One year we had a particularly cold winter and the whole lake on father's estate froze solid. Having spent most of my life in Singapore it was still a novelty to me, seeing that much ice, and of course I'd never skated before. But the lake looked so glassy and inviting I couldn't resist having a go'._

_'I bet your first attempt was better than mine!'_

_'Not a bit of it. I ended up on my bottom a dozen times before I got the hang of it, and the palms of my gloves were almost completely torn away with all the times I landed on them. I didn't have real skates, which probably didn't help. But one_ can _slide alright in ordinary shoes, with a bit of determination. Anyway, once I'd got the knack of moving about I started playing a sort of improvised one woman ice hockey – hitting stones between goal markers and so on. I was already hockey captain at school by then and field hockey isn't so very different to playing on the ice. It helped me keep in practise anyway, and gave me something to do during the long days alone until I went back to school'._

_'Alone? But... I thought you said you skated with your father?'_

_Delia posed the question tentatively, knowing that family was a sore discussion point for Patsy, but still longing to know more about the past that had made her who she was. And it_ had _been Patsy that first mentioned her father._

_'Yes, but that came a few days later. I was out skating one day when my father walked past the lake and saw me. He didn't speak to me, he just watched for a minute with a thoughtful expression, then turned and walked back the way he'd come without so much as a smile in my direction. To be honest I thought I must have done something wrong. It wasn't unusual to accidentally set him off, and then I'd get nothing from him for hours. Days sometimes. Either way the joy had gone out of the game, and I went inside'._

_'Oh Pats'._

_Patsy gave the hand she was still holding a gentle squeeze and smiled reassuringly._

_'It was alright. The next day I found a pair of ice skates waiting on my chair at breakfast, and father was smiling at me over his kippers. A real smile, like a little boy looking out the window and seeing it had snowed on Christmas morning. He looked so excited, and so..._ present _in the moment, it was almost as though he was a whole new person. We skated together for the first time that day, and father talked more easily on the ice than anywhere else. He told me how he and his brothers had skated there whenever it was cold enough to freeze, and found out skating rinks to visit when it wasn't. They'd played ice hockey, and seeing me hitting stones brought it all back. With real skates and advice from someone who knew what they were doing I got better, and father got more expansive. We'd stay out on the ice most of the day all through that holiday, and for a while I thought maybe that was it, we would be normal now. Somehow though it never quite worked properly when we weren't skating, and most winters of course it didn't get cold enough for the whole lake to freeze – it was too big. It helped though, having those times to remember'._

_'That sounds so lovely. I bet you were brilliant at ice hockey'._

_Patsy's expression brightened from it's reminiscing look._

_'Would you like to play? We could improvise hockey sticks out of... well, sticks'._

_Delia felt quite touched that Patsy was so willing to make her a part of her most pleasant memories of youth, and gave her hand a grateful squeeze._

_'Yes please! Only- well, I can't skate like you can. And I don't think I was ever hockey captain. I'm not sure it would be quite a fair game... I might end up in a heap'._

_'We can just do goal shots if you like'._

_Unsurprisingly, Patsy was much, much better at it than Delia. So much so that Delia steadily reduced the space between the goalposts (well, the bits of branch they were using for posts) until Patsy was aiming at a gap barely wider than she was. Delia on the other hand set her shots up with a goal almost as wide as the pond, and she still missed sometimes. It didn't matter though, because Patsy laughed good naturedly and skated over, correcting Delia's grip on her stick (and it really was just a stick – she felt sure she'd be better with proper equipment) and helping guide her movements through to get her pebble to go where she wanted it to._

_Patsy seemed so easy and relaxed on the ice – muscles that were normally tense moved languidly, so that she almost appeared to be floating. Her eyes were so bright and her voice so merry as they chatted that Delia was rather sorry when it was time to leave for lunch at Nonnatus house, in spite of how tired her muscles felt, unaccustomed as they were to holding her balanced on thin blades over slippery ice._

_They stopped off at the flat again on the way, exchanging the ice skates for the festively wrapped parcels they would give their friends, and then hurried onwards. The streets were thronged with people in best clothes, many similarly furnished with parcels on their way to visit friends and relatives, or just out for a stroll to work up an appetite before the main event. Children gathered in huddles to compare new Christmas toys and played noisy games with new balls and bikes and dolls' prams; no doubt having been sent outside to give their long suffering mothers a little peace to cook their lunches in. Delia rather enjoyed being part of this cheerful crowd, even if it did mean occasionally dodging a carelessly kicked football, or stopping to help slightly harassed looking parents rescue a cascade of parcels dropped from the arms of an over-burdened toddler (who, after refusing to relinquish anything with her name on, had evidently discovered that the task of carrying all the presents she had made for 'nanny-and-grandpa-and-cousin-michael-and-Johnny-and-auntie-Sue-and-uncle-Peter' was more complicated than originally anticipated)._

_When at last they arrived at Nonnatus House it was to find the table already laid and Sister Julienne giving everyone a five minute warning to be at the table._

_'I'm so sorry we're late, time rather got away from us this morning, and then we kept meeting people we knew on the way here who all wanted to exchange season's greetings'._

_'It's no matter Nurse Mount, you are both here now! And most welcome. Mr and Mrs Turner only arrived a few minutes ago, and I dare say it'll take a few more minutes yet to round everyone up before we can start the meal, so you haven't missed anything. Come on through and get warm'._

_Christmas lunch was a merry affair, and as Patsy herself proclaimed after her first mouthful of turkey and stuffing, far better than the simple fair the two of them managed at home._

_'Nothing wrong with simple. A good dinner of mince and potatoes has seen many a family grateful and more than grateful. No point in putting on airs, not when you're both nurses with hard work to be done. When I was a girl we'd be glad to see a bit of bread and dripping, and no fussing over the lack of finer things'._

_This from Sister Evangelina, whose plate was heaped at least as high as everyone else's with the good food from the table. Everyone forbore to point this out however, evidently used to such comments and disinclined for any bad feeling on Christmas day. Delia herself didn't feel at all offended by the suggestion that she and Patsy might be 'putting on airs'. In fact she was mostly just delighted to have been included as a nurse, because that meant Sister Evangelina saw her as a woman of her own profession on sick leave and not a hopeless case. She didn't draw attention to the remark by commenting, but when it came time to pull crackers she offered the other end of hers to the irascible nun, who seemed rather pleased, and even deigned to go so far as to perch the paper crown from inside it over her wimple (although a few moments later she excused herself to refill the water jug, and the crown had mysteriously vanished by the time she returned)._

_The plates were cleared, the pudding lit and exclaimed over and at last consumed, and nobody could eat another bite. Sister Julienne ended the meal as it had begun – with heartfelt gratitude for all they had, and for the good friends here to share it with, offering up a brief prayer in thanks for the blessings the Lord had given them and, with a gently wry smile, for not having the phone ring part way through dinner, so no one had had to miss the festivities._

_After lunch they all retired to the lounge. Sister Winifred had suggested a game of charades, and Barbara mentioned monopoly, but both were quickly vetoed; the former for containing far too much moving about after such a large meal, the latter for being prone to inciting a sort of combative competitiveness not at all in keeping with the spirit of a holy festival day. In the end they divided into subgroups according to their tastes – gravitating to either scrabble or snakes and ladders, while Sister Julienne and Mrs Turner played a game of chess with such finesse that the other game players kept getting distracted and watching to see what would happen next._

_When the phone did eventually ring, Trixie got up to answer it without resentment over the interruption – they had all had enough time together that nobody now would feel as though they were really missing out by being called away. Which, as it turned out, was rather fortunate, because a few moments later Trixie poked her head around the door again and said_

_'It's Mrs Murton. Barbara?'_

_'Alright, I'm coming. I want you all to know though that I very nearly had all the letters to spell 'enzyme', and had I stayed I'd have got the z on a double letter at least. As it is I have a pair of twins who rather take priority, but I couldn't let it go without at least giving it a mention'._

_She hurried off to get her bag, and they could all hear the retreating sounds of Trixie questioning how anyone could come up with a word like enzyme in a game of scrabble, even if they_ were _in the medical profession._

_Patsy and Delia stayed a while longer after Barbara and Trixie had gone, but then the nuns left for their Christmas evening service and Mrs Turner went with them, and it seemed the gathering had reached its natural conclusion._

_They were both tired when they got home – several hours of fresh, cold air and exercise followed by a big meal of rich food had combined to make them feel comfortably drowsy. Delia was halfway to the reclining chair that had been hers since she moved in when she changed her mind. She didn't need to elevate her ankle anymore, and she didn't need to sit apart for fear of jostling her ribs. She turned in mid stride and settled herself instead on one half of the small sofa, tucking her feet up so they met and tangled with Patsy's in the middle as they took up their books to read a while._

_Although it was pleasant and cosy on the sofa and the book was just getting to a good bit, Delia found she was having trouble concentrating. Her mind kept wandering back to the frozen pond where she and Patsy had skated hand in hand throughout the morning. She remembered how bright Patsy's hair had looked in the winter sunshine, and the contrast of how warm the hand holding Patsy's had been compared to the chilly fingers of the other. For a while she got lost in thoughts of Patsy's smooth, graceful movements, her clear, untroubled laughter ringing out across the still park, her arms encircling Delia as she showed her how to aim and knock her stone through the goalposts…_

_Across the sofa, Patsy's book dropped gently from her hands to the floor with a muffled thump, and Delia jumped a little, as though she had been caught out. She glanced over at the clock - it was only just after nine, but Patsy must have had a very early start to ensure she finished decorating before Delia woke up, and her exhaustion was evidently catching up with her. Delia nudged her friend's leg lightly with a toe and, when her eyes opened, murmured_

_'Come on Pats, bed time'._

_Patsy nodded blearily and made her way through to the bedroom without protest. Although it was still early enough that Delia might have decided to stay up, she followed automatically, not quite willing to give up her company just yet._

_Patsy fell asleep quickly, and not for the first time, Delia noticed how much more peaceful she looked these days. Since they had begun sharing a bed she was no longer tense and sad in sleep; now it was as though the walls she kept up during her waking life were knocked down, and there was something touchingly young and open about her face. Delia lay as still as she could beside her, not wanting to wake her friend but not entirely ready to go to sleep herself either. It had been such a truly perfect Christmas day – one of those rare days you knew would live in your memory with a sort of golden glow of happiness around it, and she wanted to keep hold of it in the present for just a little while longer._

_She found herself gazing across the pillow at Patsy, thinking how grateful she was to have her in her life. Somehow she always knew exactly how to make Delia feel better when she was sad, and how to make her laugh, and how to plan gifts and outings so perfect it almost took her breath away to think that anyone could know her so well. Sometimes she got so caught up in thoughts like this that she would find herself utterly entranced by the play of light and shadow over the line of Patsy's jaw, or the way her nose crinkled adorably when she laughed, or the smooth movement of her eyebrow when she raised it in a sardonic arch. Now, as they lay so close together, Delia noticed a few strands of red hair clinging to Patsy's cheek as she slept, catching at the corner of her mouth. It looked rather tickly, and_ _Delia had to resist the urge to reach over and brush them gently out the way._

_The thought of it made her breath catch unexpectedly in her chest and her fingertips tingle slightly as she imagined the feel of Patsy's skin beneath them. The smooth curve of her cheek, and the full, rosy bow of her lips... They looked so soft... Without quite knowing how it happened, Delia found herself wondering what it would be like to kiss those lips, and actually moved very slightly towards Patsy before she returned to her senses and realised exactly what she was doing._

_Oh Lord._

_It was a mistake. Of course it was a mistake. Delia rolled over quickly so that her back was to Patsy, doing her best to put all thoughts of kissing out of her head._

_She had been cooped up too long, that was all. Patsy had planned such a special day for her, and she had been the one here with her through so many traumatic events; she was confusing her feelings of friendship and gratitude for romance. That was all it was. That_ had _to be all it was. She supposed it was bound to happen sometimes, when patients spent all their time in such limited and primarily female company. There was nowhere else for those feelings to go, so of course they transferred onto the most important person in her life, even if that person happened to be another woman. It didn't mean anything. She couldn't_ let _it mean anything, because if it did it would ruin the friendship she and Patsy had, and quite possibly put Patsy off her entirely._

 _She just needed to get out more, and meet new people. Joan had invited her to a new year's eve party in her last letter, and although Delia had intended to decline (anticipating other plans with Patsy) she now resolved to accept. For both their sakes, she needed to get out and start meeting young men_. _It was only fair to Patsy after all – she would doubtless be horrified if she knew that Delia was repaying her solicitous kindness with such foolish fancies._

_And Patsy would be thrilled that Delia was showing an interest in dating anyway – all girls wanted a boyfriend and enjoyed gossiping about potential partners with their friends, didn't they? Surely that was something she and Patsy must have done all the time, before. Delia dating would give Patsy a chance to go out and meet men herself - that was another thing she must have put on hold for Delia's sake. It was true that the idea of either of them actually having a boyfriend didn't really appeal to her... In fact, just thinking about it felt as though a hand was squeezing mercilessly at her heart; but her very aversion to it showed just how urgently necessary it was. She had to find a way to displace these feelings before Patsy noticed and decided they could no longer be friends. No matter what, she couldn't let that happen._

_Delia tried to tell herself that her rapid heart rate was simply because she was excited by the prospect of meeting boys and had nothing at all to do with the warmth she could feel radiating from Patsy's skin even across the inches of bed that separated them._

_All the same, it was a long time before she fell asleep that night._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is a point no one will actually care about, but when I say I'm obsessive about detail... I am REALLY obsessive about detail. So, brief disclaimer: I spent quite some time researchings parks within feasible walking distance of approximately where Patsy and Delia's flat would be, looking for ones that would a)have been there in 1960 and b) had a small lake/large pond suitable for skating on. Needless to say I didn't have a huge amount of luck, but then the winter of 1960 also wasn't cold enough to freeze such a lake solid enough to make skating safe anyway, so that entire scene is an act of creative license for the sake of fluff :)


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, this chapter is a complete contrast to the previous one: it is short, and very far from fluffy, but I think most people were anticipating that... If you stick with the story I promise it gets happy again eventually!  
> Also, this chapter is not my finest writing, so I hope you'll forgive me for it!

Quite against all expectations, Patsy found herself back at Trixie's keep fit class the week after Christmas. She felt no more affinity for it than she had the first time, but she had needed a place to work out her feelings and it seemed to work for Trixie. Anything was worth a go.

She couldn't figure out what had happened. She had gone to sleep on Christmas day with Delia snuggled close beside her, feeling happy that the barriers between them seemed at an all time low; so that at times she had almost allowed herself to believe that Delia's feelings for her might be more than simple friendship. But then she had woken on boxing day to find her world inexplicably changed. Delia was asleep right on the edge of the double bed, as far from Patsy as she could get without falling right off, and even when they got up she seemed strangely taciturn. It had been the same all that day and the next, and all Patsy's attempts to find out what was wrong and offer support had been met with further withdrawal.

She tried to convince herself that Delia was just struggling with some memories that she wasn't ready to share yet, but she couldn't help worrying that she'd somehow done something wrong without realising it. Had she caused this change in Delia? Up until now her friend had been happy to let her offer support for even the most difficult memories. Could it be... could she be remembering the way things were between them, and instead of being glad...

Oh God, what if the idea of it repulsed her? Maybe Delia wouldn't meet her eye anymore because she saw Patsy as something disgusting and unnatural. Should she say something? Offer to separate the beds? Offer to leave altogether?

A drop of moisture that might possibly have been a tear, but might also just be a bead of sweat dripped down onto Patsy's mat as she pushed herself to work faster at the routine that was already leaving her breathless. The increasingly loud complaints from her muscles were not enough to overpower the memories of the time she had spent with Delia in their flat though.

Delia's portrait of them, hidden but now a permanent part of the flat beneath the paint in the lounge.

Her shy, hopeful expression when she had asked to push the beds together.

All the times she had reached for Patsy without a thought, hugging her or taking her hand as naturally as breathing.

She wouldn't say anything to Delia. Not yet. Maybe there was something else entirely behind this withdrawal, and Delia just needed time and understanding to be able to explain it. Patsy was probably just being over sensitive to think it had anything to do with her. All the same, she resolved to give Delia as much space as she could until she decided to come back. _If_ she decided to.

Patsy was so absorbed in thoughts of Delia that it was a few moments before she realised everyone else had stopped the vigorous on the spot marching they had been doing previously and had moved into the gentle stretches that signalled the end of the class approaching. She hurried to do the same and then as before rolled up her mat, reclaimed her coat and waited for Trixie by the entrance.

Although their walk home was a quiet one, Trixie must have known something was badly wrong. Instead of a casual farewell at the door to Nonnatus House, or an offer of a Horlicks with her and Babs before Patsy went home, as soon as they reached the convent Trixie took hold of her elbow and steered her straight through to the back garden. It wasn't the ideal spot for a cosy chat, but at this time of year they could be reasonably certain of privacy. When they were settled on either end of the garden bench, Trixie turned to her and said firmly

'Alright Patsy, tell me what's happened'.

'Nothing's happened'.

'Oh don't give me that. Nothing but the direst circumstances could have brought you back to that keep fit class, and you spent the entire session looking as though we were all stamping on kittens. Something _has_ happened, and you came to me. Those are the facts and we both know it. It's too cold out here to draw it out longer than it needs to be. So. Tell. Me. What. Happened'.

Patsy's mouth quirked into the faintest shadow of a smile in spite of itself. There was something awfully reassuring about Trixie's no nonsense style of offering comfort. Patsy would be allowed to be sad, but she would not be allowed to be self indulgent, or give in to paranoia.

'I said nothing happened because nothing _has_ happened. An awful lot of nothing actually. Ever since boxing day Delia's seemed so- it's silly'.

'I know you Patsy, and anything that can make you look like that is most certainly _not_ silly. I promise whatever you say next I won't be cross with you, or laugh at you, or whatever other beastly reaction you're worried about. Just tell me. Maybe I can help'.

So she did. She told Trixie about how Delia would reach for her hand, the way she always had, and then would suddenly seem to remember herself and snatch it back like she'd been burned. How their conversations had grown stilted and awkward, as though they were strangers. How Delia deftly stepped away whenever it seemed there might be even the slightest risk of so much as a sleeve brushing against Patsy's. How she never seemed to laugh anymore, and spent as much time as she could in whichever room Patsy wasn't in.

Trixie was quiet for a while. The fact that she didn't immediately jump in and say that Patsy had nothing to worry about was both validating and dispiriting. It meant that she probably wasn't just paranoid. At last her friend spoke, with a slightly hesitant note in her voice.

'It might not be as bad as all that. Delia could well be just living through some beastly memory that she's not ready to talk about. She might be missing her mother too... although she wanted to stay, perhaps she's struggling with the fact that she had to choose at all, and being with you reminds her of all she had to lose to keep her life here'.

'You think I should have told her to go? Even after she turned up on my doorstep so desperate not to?'

'Of _course_ not sweetie. But we both know better than most that just because the decision you make is the right one, it doesn't make it easy. Be patient. Delia will come back to you, I'm sure of it'.

Trixie sounded more confident now, as if she had figured out what was wrong and felt secure in her opinion that it couldn't possibly be what Patsy feared. Not when there was any other possible explanation. She sounded so certain that Patsy couldn't quite bring herself to suggest that maybe Delia knew about them, and hated her for it.

Trixie seemed to see that she was no less despondent however, because a moment later she said:

'Why don't the two of you come over for New Years Eve? There's enough spare beds at Nonnatus that we could accommodate you for the night if you didn't want to walk home late, and maybe it would be easier for Delia to come out of her shell again if she's reminded of how much of a family she does have, instead of focusing on what she doesn't'.

'Delia's going to Joan's new year's eve party'.

'Oh... well... maybe it'll be nice for you both to-'

'I wasn't invited'.

'Oh'.

For a while there was silence as both Patsy and Trixie drew on their cigarettes, trying to find a positive spin.

'Delia was bound to want more independence eventually'.

'I know'.

'It doesn't mean she won't want-'

'What if it does?'

Trixie seemed to struggle with her next words for a while, clearly not wanting to have to say them, but too good a friend to offer untruthful platitudes.

'Well, if it does, and I still don't think it will, but if it _does_.. you said from the start that you would let Delia decide what she wanted from life, didn't you? You said that if the time came when you had to let her go, you would do so, and then you'd try to heal the wounds it left you'.

Patsy bowed her head. She felt utterly wretched. So much so that she might be inclined to put her head on Trixie's shoulder and cry, except that she'd promised herself she wouldn't.

'I did say that, and I meant it, of course I did. I _do_ mean it. But I don't think I really understood how hard it would be'.

'Well, I don't think you're going to have to. But if you do, you won't be on your own Patsy. I'll help you through it, whatever happens. You can survive this. It might break your heart, you might feel like you'll never be the same again. It might even be true. But you'll survive it. It's what we do'.

It was not the stuff of sweet reassurance, but it was realer than any amount of platitudes. If Patsy had to say goodbye to Delia, if she had to live with her hatred and scorn, then she would survive.

Somehow.


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief disclaimer: We meet Joan in this chapter, who is (as I think I've mentioned somewhere in previous chapters) from Newcastle. Now, half my family are geordie (from newcastle and speaking with its regional accent) and I have based Joan's speech as best I can on my grandma's/older geordie relatives' (who were about Joan's age in 1960 so are hopefully closest to how she'd have sounded), but there are still the twin problems that 1. although I grew up hearing it a lot I'm not geordie and may not always get things exactly right, and 2. the way a word sounds can be quite hard to translate to writing. I've attempted to write Joan's bits phonetically to give a sense of her accent while still making it reasonably clear what she's saying, but if anyone doesn't understand let me know in a comment and I'll add a note at the bottom of this chapter to translate.
> 
> Also to any actual geordies I'M SORRY if I have utterly failed to do justice to the accent with my imperfect phonetics and knowledge of slang! If there are any glaring faults you want me to change let me know and I'll be happy to oblige.

_It had been a long, miserable week for Delia. After her revelation on Christmas night she was aware of just how often she had looked at Patsy with something more than friendship, and the knowledge terrified her. Every time she caught herself in a warm look, or felt her heartbeat speed up when their hands met, she would imagine Patsy's eyes going cold the way her fathers had, turning from her as though she were a matter of complete indifference. Then she would look quickly away, or pull back her hand, or find a reason to leave the room entirely, because at least that way she could be sure Patsy wouldn't see the true feelings she was certain must be shining from her eyes like a traitorous beacon._

_She knew her behaviour was hurting Patsy - she had asked in concerned tones if there was anything wrong several times, and (when she dared to look) Delia had noticed the hurt in her friend's eyes as she withdrew further from her. But whatever secret she believed Delia to be keeping, it surely couldn't hurt her as much as learning the truth. So she kept her distance, and waited for the evening of the 31st with a sort of desperate hope, that somehow just going to a party with young men would make things better._

_All the same, when it came to it and Delia was getting dressed up to go out, it felt strange to be leaving without Patsy. Joan had invited her too as a matter of course, but Delia hadn't mentioned the offer and had told Joan in her return letter that although she would suggest it, she was fairly sure Patsy had already made plans with her own friends. It felt mean and duplicitous, but all the same she knew without question that if she took Patsy she wouldn't be able to bring herself to show an interest in any of Joan's male guests. It was the only way._

_Patsy was doing her make-up ready to meet Barbara and Trixie when Delia went in to pick up her bag, and didn't turn around at the sound of her voice._

' _Well… goodbye then. Joan's said I can sleep on the floor in her room if it gets too late and I don't fancy the walk home, so there's no need to wait up…'_

' _Alright'._

' _I expect you might end up staying over at Nonnatus House yourself anyway, if it gets very late. Don't you think?'_

' _I don't suppose I'll stay long past midnight, but yes, I could stay in Phyllis' room if needs be'._

_Delia could tell her friend was upset and confused by the way she'd been behaving, and she wished more than anything she could break down this barrier between them, for all that it was of her own making._

' _Pats…'_

_She wanted to assure her that none of this was her fault. That just as soon as she'd channelled these inconvenient romantic feelings into a less dangerous place they could be proper friends again. That none of this meant she was any less proud or grateful to call Patsy her best friend…_

' _Happy new year'._

_After all, there was nothing else that could safely be said._

' _Happy new year Delia'._

_And with that, Delia turned and walked away._

_It wasn't until she came in sight of the Nurses' Home that she began to feel really nervous. She had been writing to Joan for several weeks now and felt as though they knew each other reasonably well, but this was the first time they were meeting in person, and the first time Delia had taken a big post-accident step like this without Patsy by her side to help smooth things over if anything went wrong. But of course that was exactly what had led to this trouble in the first place. She didn't need Patsy here holding her hand. Physically_ or _metaphorically._

_Straightening her shoulders, she marched up to the front door and knocked firmly. Faintly, from inside the building, she heard the merry sound of young voices calling to each other, and then clearer_

' _I'll get it!'_

_Followed by a wash of light as the door opened._

'Delia! _I can't believe you're really here, it's been much too long! Come in, we're all still getting ready'._

' _...Joan?'_

_The girl before her was about her own height, with a candyfloss cloud of white-blonde curls and pale blue eyes behind thick glasses. She knew Joan_ did _have blonde hair and blue eyes, but for some reason this wasn't at all what she had expected her to look like._

' _What?_ No, _of course not! I'm Irene. Palliative care? We trained together. But I suppose you wouldn't remember'._

_She glanced at Delia's forehead, as if amnesia might somehow be visible there - a physical blemish marked across her brow. The look only lasted a second, and then Irene said again._

' _Do come in, Matron will have my guts for garters if she catches us chatting on the doorstep, letting the heat out'._

_Delia was hustled unceremoniously through the door into what had for quite some time been her home. She looked around with interest. It was quite impersonal and smelled rather like the hospital; but she thought it_ might _feel just the slightest bit familiar. Maybe._

_She followed Irene up the stairs to a room on the first floor, which was spilling light and quiet music, along with frequent peals of girlish laughter, out into the hall._

' _Joan's in here with the others. She's our resident nail expert so everyone's making the most of the chance to put their sensible nurse's nails aside for the night. It's bright varnish all round, even if we_ will _have to take it off in the morning. I dare say she could do yours too'._

_Irene didn't wait for a response before bursting through the door calling to the room at large:_

' _I found a straggler! She's joining the queue for your magic paints Joan'._

_For a moment it seemed to Delia that it was Phyllis she heard announcing that she had found a straggler waiting in the hall, and not Irene at all. But she didn't have long to ponder the odd sensation, because a moment later she was almost knocked off her feet by a hug._

' _Eee, Delia pet! It's propa good to see you! You're lewking that much betta'._

_This, without doubt, was Joan. Delia couldn't remember hearing a geordie accent, but she recognised that that's what this was._

' _Thank you for inviting me! It's so good to finally meet you!'_

' _Come an have a sit doon, w' tawkin aboot Pam's bonny stewdent docta'._

'Joan _, he's not_ my _doctor!'_

_The girl who was evidently Pam was blushing furiously, negating her protest with her scarlet cheeks._

' _Mebbe not yet, but I doon't heeya you denyin that e's bonny!'._

_Joan gave Delia a conspiratorial wink as she found a stool for her and continued to tease Pam gently about her relationship prospects._

_Delia found she was rather glad to be brought in so casually, and to have the full force of everyone's attention diverted from her. She rather suspected Joan was doing it on purpose, giving her time to acclimatise to being among so many people who knew her but whom she couldn't remember. She had evidently taken the nervousness Delia had mentioned in her letter to heart, and was doing her best to make things easier. She smiled a little, touched by the thoughtful gesture, and settled down to listen._

_The others continued the flurry of activity they had evidently been engaged in before the interruption - pinning hair and putting on make-up, a few blowing carefully on newly painted nails to dry them. The entire room became a fug of hair lacquer as half a dozen girls attempted to fortify their hairdos against the wind outside; and during the bustle several of them took the opportunity to come over and sit beside Delia for a minute, to tell her how glad they were to have her back._

_At last Irene (who Delia got the impression was something of a leader among them) began chivvying the last few nurses to finish off their primping and fetch their coats._

' _If we don't leave soon it'll be midnight before we get there and we'll miss all the fun! Edith, Brenda, if Albert Campbell has picked someone else by the time we get there I am holding both of you to account. Hurry_ up _'._

_Still giggling and chattering, the whole gaggle made a move for the door, several disappearing into rooms further along the corridor, only to return a moment later in coats and outdoor shoes. Joan fell into step beside Delia towards the back of the group, linking their arms together as they walked. Although she couldn't help thinking fleetingly of Patsy then, it was actually rather nice to be out with her own friends, and to know she had had a life and people who cared about her beyond her best friend. It meant that if the worst happened and Patsy did reject her, she might not be completely alone in the world after all._

_The new year's eve party turned out to be much bigger than Delia had realised. In fact, rather than the moderate gathering of friends and acquaintances at a pub she had been anticipating, they arrived at a large hall. The sounds of music and laughter were already spilling out into the snowy street when they approached, and posters stuck to the door announced the event as a 'New Year's Eve Grand Ball' raising money for the children's ward._

_There were a lot of people, although women were clearly in the minority. This fact evidently delighted the other nurses, and, after a few moments of trepidation for the unexpected scale of the event, Delia reminded herself to be delighted too._

_She had resolved to accept any and all offers to dance she might receive, and as such the evening passed in a whirl of partners. There were so many more men than women that she would barely make it back to her table at the end of a song before another offer would be made and out she'd go again. It wasn't as effective as she hoped though - she didn't seem to be hitting it off particularly well with any of them. In their turn, her partners must have sensed a certain lack of enthusiasm from her, as they politely thanked her for the dance and returned her to her table after a single song, intent on finding a more enthusiastic girl._

_At last Delia decided to break her own rule and refuse any more dances for a while - her feet were sore in their high heels, and her head ached a little from the music and the smoke and the effort of coming up with things to say._

_The next person to approach her was a bespectacled young man with an earnest face and a well scrubbed look that made him seem rather boyish, although he was probably at least Delia's own age. His hair evidently had a natural tendency to curl, and the brylcreem it had been plied with was fighting a losing battle in its attempt to keep it flat._

' _Good evening. Would you care to dance?'_

_He sounded just the slightest bit shy in his formality, and looked so genuinely friendly and hopeful that Delia felt a tiny bit regretful at declining._

' _I'm sorry, I'm taking a break for a while. I need to get my breath back. Perhaps later on though, if you still want to?'_

_Far from looking disheartened however, the boy's face softened into a smile that made his eyes crinkle pleasantly._

' _Actually, that's a bit of a relief. I'm afraid I'm not much of a dancer, but I couldn't miss the opportunity to talk with you… I wonder… would you permit me to buy you a drink, and sit with you a while while you drink it?'_

_Delia considered for a moment - it seemed somehow more significant to have a drink with a chap than simply to take a spin around the dance floor. But after all, he seemed rather sweet and he had a nice face. There was no reason why not, except that nagging reluctance she had been trying to ignore ever since she came up with the idea of meeting men._

' _Alright, that would be nice. I'm Delia by the way'._

' _Robert'._

_Robert returned from the bar a minute later with two glasses of something that smelled fruity and had maraschino cherries floating in it._

' _I'm not quite certain what this is, but the fellow behind the bar told me it was the lady's choice of the evening so I thought you might like to give it a go'._

' _I'm sure it'll be lovely, thank you!'_

_Actually the drink was a little syrupy even for Delia's sweet tooth, and had a taste slightly reminiscent of marzipan, which had never been her favourite. She'd have preferred him to ask what she wanted before buying the drinks, but then he_ had _been giving her a gift of sorts, and she appreciated the gesture._

' _So Delia, how did you get to hear about this fundraiser?Are you one of the nurses?'_

_Delia's first instinct was to say yes, followed quickly by one just as strong to say no. She paused for a beat, considering._

' _I am a nurse, yes, but I was in a car accident a couple of months ago so I'm not working just at the moment'._

' _Oh I'm so sorry. Are you unwell?'_

' _Not anymore, but I hit my head and, well, they're always very careful of head injuries'._

_Delia squirmed in her seat a little, uncomfortable that she had had to bring that up so soon after meeting. It had never occurred to her before, but she realised now that amnesia might well be rather off putting to potential suitors. Even mentioning the fact that she had had a head injury made her feel slightly ashamed, as though it meant she was damaged goods. Robert wasn't looking at her as though she was broken however. His look held sympathy, but not pity, and he nodded as if he understood._

' _It's a beastly business. My uncle took a tumble from his motorbike last year and he was signed off work for six months, even though he seemed alright after three. But he forgot words sometimes, and had trouble with recognising faces, so the doctors said he had brain damage and made him keep away'._

' _Really? Goodness, I didn't know it was so common. From the interest they take at the hospital I rather feel as though I'm the only one sometimes!'_

' _Do you get it too then? The business with words and faces?'_

' _Oh, no. But… well, there's some things I can't remember. It's coming back, but… there are a few years still missing'._

_Delia made the confession quickly, ducking her head afterwards to take a sip of the syrupy drink as an excuse not to meet Robert's eye. It seemed to her now that she had been horribly arrogant in deciding to go out and meet men. Why had she assumed they would have any interest in meeting_ her _? Clearly spending so much time around only people that knew and understood about her amnesia had made her forget that this conversation would have to happen whenever she met someone new. Unless she lied to them. But Delia's nature was too honest for that. She wouldn't be able to do it._

' _Well, then they must have been very dull years, because the loss of them hasn't made you less pleasant company'._

_Delia gave him a grateful little smile for his gallantry, then changed the subject._

' _What about you Robert? What do you do? And how did you end up at a hospital fundraiser on new year's eve? Do you work in the hospital?'_

' _Oh, no. These things are always popular. A lot of chaps come because they know there'll be nurses, and nurses are always the prettiest girls to get a kiss from at midnight-'_

_He broke off speaking for a moment, and actually blushed as he searched Delia's face to see if she would be offended. Then, lest she should think him one of these crass nurse kissers, he hurried on_

' _I'm here because my brother's girl is a nurse and he pulled in as many chaps as he could as a favour to her. Apparently she was worried about not making up the numbers. It seems she was a little overzealous'._

_He gestured vaguely at the clusters of men loitering awkwardly at the edge of the dance floor or leaning against the bar with glasses of beer in their hands, just in case Delia hadn't got the reference._

' _What's her name? I might know her'._

' _Trudie - she's over there look'._

_Robert pointed to a mousy haired girl that Delia vaguely remembered from Joan's room earlier, though they hadn't spoken much._

' _Oh yes, she lives with a friend of mine at the Nurses' home'._

' _Small world'._

' _It is!'_

_Delia was rather pleased to have made even this superficial connection. The conversation was not flowing easily the way it had with Patsy even in the very early days, but it was flowing. Anyway, she wasn't supposed to be thinking about Patsy. And Robert was nice. It did get easier as they continued chatting along the conventional lines of music and film and even a little about their childhoods (Robert had asked about her accent and Delia told him a bit about Wales. In return he'd told her tales of Cornwall, where he'd spent the first eight years of his life before moving to London). During a brief lull in the conversation, Delia realised he had never really answered her first question._

' _You never did tell me your profession'._

' _Oh, yes. Ah- well, I'm afraid you might laugh'._

' _Oh go on. I told you about my knock to the head, whatever you do can't possibly be that bad! I won't laugh'._

' _Well, just at present I make pastries in my father's bakery. I'm saving up to go to university though. I want to be an architect'._

_He added the last bit quickly, as if she might think him soft for baking pastries without some other ambition in mind._

' _An architect! Goodness, that sounds interesting. Do you ever make buildings out of pastry? A choux bun Big Ben, or a mille-feuille house of parliaments?'_

_Robert looked a bit unsure._

' _Are you… making fun of me? I do see why, but you said you wouldn't laugh!'_

' _Oh Robert, I'm not at all! I rather liked the idea of pastry buildings as a way to practice architecture, but I was only joking. Actually I'm very impressed that you can bake. I wish I could! It took me four attempts to manage gingerbread this Christmas'._

_Too late Delia realised that was probably not the sort of thing she should confess to a male suitor. It was one thing with her female friends, but to acknowledge an insufficiency in a traditionally female skill to Robert might well be to lower his opinion of her. It didn't seem to though, because his next words were_

_I… I could teach you. If you like… If… if you wanted to meet again that is'._

' _Oh… well, I…'_

_Delia had been about to make an excuse to decline when she caught herself sharply. She liked Robert, he was friendly and sweet and earnest, and alright she didn't feel warm and happy inside the way she did when she talked to Patsy, but she wasn't bored. They had even laughed together a few times. She could hardly expect her feelings to change all at once, and if she thought about it Robert had a nice smile, and kind eyes, and hair that looked as though it would be soft with all the brylcreem washed out. She decided that could well be the beginning of a crush. You noticed little things like that when you were interested in someone didn't you? Forcing away the unwelcome thought that perhaps she had only noticed those things because she had been looking for things to like, Delia returned Robert's shy smile and said_

' _Yes. I'd like that'._

_His smile then was so wide it made his ears seem to stick out further from his head, making obvious the blush that was turning them a deep red._

_When Joan rushed up at 11.58 to bring Delia outside for the count down, Robert went too. From the corner of her eye Delia saw him being punched playfully on the arm by the man she assumed must be his brother, since Trudie was hanging onto his arm._

_Soon everyone was crowded into the small courtyard outside the hall, and as the last seconds of 1960 ticked away they shouted together_

' _Ten, nine, eight…'_

_Delia tried hard not to think of Patsy, and how much she would have liked to be in her arms right now, whispering the count down to each other as they waltzed slowly together._

' _Seven, six, five…'_

_And then at the stroke of midnight, tilting her head to catch Patsy's lips with her own as the clock struck 12 and the fireworks began outside._

' _Four, three…'_

_But that was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. She shouldn't be thinking about Patsy that way. It wasn't fair on her friend. Not even in her own imagination. When the new year began she would have eyes only for men. For Robert, perhaps._

' _Two, one… HAPPY NEW YEAR!'_

_Everyone cheered and jumped up and down with excitement as fireworks exploded overhead. Many couples kissed, but Delia turned first to hug Joan as the clock struck, and only afterwards did she turn to Robert. It felt safer somehow, after the stroke of midnight had passed. The brief window of time when it was socially acceptable to kiss an almost perfect stranger had passed them by, and they exchanged a slightly awkward hug along with their 'happy new year!'_

_Delia told herself that not wanting to kiss Robert yet didn't mean she was failing in her resolution. She just wasn't the sort of girl that kissed boys she didn't know well, that was all. When she knew him better that was bound to change._

_They danced together when the music came back on, and although it was true that Robert certainly wasn't about to win prizes for his dancing, he didn't step on her toes, and that was about all one could really ask for in a partner._

_At the end of the night Joan returned faithfully to her as she had promised._

' _Me floo-er is still yours if you want it hinny'._

' _Well… Robert did say he'd walk me home, and Trudie told me she'd vouch for him, so I suppose it's alright… I would rather sleep in my own bed if I can'._

_Joan beamed at her._

' _Aye, 'e seems a reet good lad that one. E'll see you safe. I want t' heeya aboot any goodnight kisses mind'._

' _Joan! Hush, I'm not going to kiss him, we just met!'_

_'Well if you won't, I might!'_

_Joan looked Robert up and down appreciatively (trying and failing to be subtle about it), then winked at Delia to show she was only teasing._

_'Gan on then pet, before I get too jealous!'_

_Out on the dark street Delia felt suddenly shy again. Somehow it felt different being out at night with a young man to when they had been so surrounded by other people. Although the streets were far from empty. A few fireworks still went up intermittently, and there were several other revellers making their way home or making the most of the tail end of street parties._

_They were quiet most of the way to the flat, but when they got there Robert said in a rush_

' _I have an afternoon off next Thursday. Will you come to the pictures with me?'_

_Delia agreed, rather touched that even after what had felt like various faux pas on her side throughout the evening, he still seemed to want to spend time with her._

_He put out a hand to shake, and she felt a surge of gratitude to him for not trying to kiss her as she squeezed his in return._

_'Goodnight Delia'._

' _Goodnight Robert'._


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to cynicalrainbows, who has faithfully read every chapter from beginning to end of this story when they were in their earliest unedited and mistake-riddled forms, and given me the most wonderful, in depth feedback on every single one. She also helps me talk through ideas when I get stuck, and this chapter in particular would have struggled to exist without her advice and encouragement, because I got as far as breakfast and then just went blank. She is also an absolutely incredible writer herself, and if you haven't read her fics yet you really, really should!

In spite of what Delia told her, Patsy had waited up. Of course she had. If there was even the slightest chance of Delia walking home alone at two in the morning, Patsy would be up to make sure she got there safely.

She hadn't _meant_ to spy on her. She had just heard footsteps on the street and looked out to see if it was Delia coming home, so of course she couldn't help seeing the young man escorting her. She had stayed at the window long enough to ascertain that Delia was clearly comfortable in his company and not in any difficulty; but when they stepped slightly together - clearly making ready to take their leave of each other, she went quickly through to the bedroom. If he was going to kiss her goodnight, Patsy didn't want to see it.

When Delia came in a minute later she was already in bed, her eyes determinedly closed in feigned sleep. She knew it was selfish, but she didn't think she could stand to hear Delia being excited over her dating prospects just then. For all her fine words about letting Delia go, Patsy hadn't actually expected her to go out and find herself a boyfriend just like that. She'd thought she'd have more time. She'd thought... alright, in spite of what she'd claimed, she had thought perhaps some residual feelings from before might stop Delia from _wanting_ a boyfriend.

The conversation couldn't be put off for long of course, and Patsy woke on new year's day feeling already mentally armoured against the pain that would be bound to try and penetrate her defences. She would be calm, she would be happy. Maybe she would even be excited for Delia, if she could manage it. She would not squeal and coo over this boy, but then Delia probably wouldn't expect her to. Patsy wasn't the squealing kind.

She sighed. She needed coffee.

When Delia came into the kitchen at last it was to find Patsy sipping the too-hot liquid and staring at a piece of toast she was letting go rapidly cold, leaning against the draining board rather than bothering to go through to the lounge and sit at the table as usual. She didn't appear to have noticed anything amiss. In fact, there was a spring in Delia's step that had not been there over the past week, and she seemed more relaxed than before; not so much as flinching when their elbows bumped as she reached to refill the kettle. She seemed... happy. The feeling of betrayal was as automatic as it was unfair, and Patsy did her best to ignore it. Delia wasn't her girlfriend anymore, and clearly didn't want to be. It was her right to make that choice. If Delia was happy then Patsy was happy for her. It was simple... at least it _should_ be simple.

'Morning Pats. Did you have a good time last night?'

Patsy thought briefly back over her evening. It had been a busy night at Nonnatus House and both Barbara and Trixie had had to go out to attend deliveries before midnight. She had spent the evening with Phyllis. It had been pleasant enough, but Phyllis was too observant by half, and Patsy had spent most of the night making an extreme effort to seem cheerful in order to avoid well meaning and impossible to answer questions. She had left quite promptly after midnight, aware that they were both due to be working this morning, and that had been that. She'd come home, changed into her pyjamas, and waited up to make sure Delia got home safely.

But as she had found so many times over the past week, she couldn't give an honest answer. Instead she said vaguely:

'Oh yes, it's always good to see the girls. It was midnight before we knew it'.

And then:

'How was Joan's party?'

She had to ask. It would be horribly impolite not to, and anyway, she might as well know for sure now as later.

'It was much bigger than I expected! It was a charity ball apparently, with a band playing and a bar serving cocktails and everything. I hardly saw the other nurses once the dancing got started'.

For a moment Patsy forgot her own self-indulgent sorrow and looked up worriedly into Delia's face, meeting her eye for what seemed the first time in days. For once, Delia didn't look away.

'They didn't just abandon you there did they? I never thought Joan would be the sort to invite a person out and then go off and leave them alone all night'.

Delia smiled, seeming almost touched that Patsy should worry about her being left alone. For the briefest of moments it felt as though the last week had been a mistake as their eyes met and the connection between them waxed as strong as ever. But then Delia replied

'No, no it wasn't like that at all! It's just for some reason there ended up being far more men than women there, and we all spent most of the night on the dance floor. And then when I _did_ sit down... well, I met someone, so I suppose the others left me to it out of tact then'.

She had been expecting it, waiting for it, but it didn't make it any easier to bear. Patsy had to fight the urge to close her eyes and put her head in her hands as a barrier against what she knew had to happen next.

She swallowed hard, projecting 'interested curiosity' as best she could instead.

Lean forward just a little.

Lower the coffee cup as if distracted from taking a sip.

Smile like this is the best news in the world.

Damn it. _Smile_.

'Oh yes?'

'Yes, his name's Robert. He bought me a drink and we sat and talked most of the evening. He was very sweet, and he's a baker! He makes pastries for a living, just imagine what Sister Monica Joan would say! She'd probably be rushing us off to get married if it meant there'd be buns for tea at Nonnatus House every night'.

Patsy didn't dare force a laugh – they tended to come out as though she was sobbing, and if the pain already squeezing her heart and twisting her guts into knots was anything to go by, it would be all too easy to tip the balance. She settled for an increase in grin size and a nod, hoping it didn't look as hollow and ghastly as it felt.

'I dare say you're right. It would be her dream come true'.

If this was Barbara she'd tease that it was probably _her_ dream too, what with that sweet tooth she and Delia both shared with the elderly nun. If it was Trixie she'd ask what his dancing was like, and which actor or singer he most readily compared to for a better idea of his looks. If she were talking to Phyllis she'd ask about his interests, and whether she had offered him a barely sugar yet (a sure sign of her approval). But this was Delia, and it was all she could do to say even that much without her voice breaking.

Delia was looking at her a little worriedly, but after the briefest of glances Patsy couldn't meet her eye again, and took a big bite of her cold toast for something to do.

'He's... he's ever so nice Pats. Honestly. I liked him a lot. He had hair that wanted to be curly, you know? I think I shall convince him to let me see it without brylcreem one day, I'm sure it would be much nicer. And he had those sorts of ears that sort of stick out from ones head but... in a nice way. And very clean fingernails. And I didn't tell you the best part! His uncle had a brain injury last year so he understands, and he doesn't mind a bit about the amnesia!'

At first the description seemed rather odd, but then Patsy considered the fact that she herself could (if she were the sort of person that made such declarations) wax quite lyrical about the rebellious bit of hair that was always kinked up from Delia's fringe when she woke up in the morning, or the dimple that was deeper on her right cheek than her left when she smiled, or any number of other small, precious things. If Delia was noticing things like that about this boy of hers, she must really like him.

Well then.

That meant she really was doing this. This was happening, and it was no good dragging her heels and complaining, even inside her own head. Goodness knows she'd had enough practice when it came to living without the people she loved best.

She took a deep breath, and barricaded herself more completely behind her Nurse Mount coping facade than she had ever shown Delia before. It felt easier with her shoulders straight and her practised 'I'm a professional, you can't phase me' smile in place.

'That's wonderful! Do I take it that there's to be more of this chap in the future then?'

'He's asked me to the pictures on Thursday, yes. After he walked me home'.

With the detachment afforded her by her familiar mask, Patsy was able to hug her friend and continue to ask pertinent questions about Delia's new love interest and sound pretty close to genuinely happy about the whole business. If Delia had to leave her for a man, she really did want it to be one that seemed able to understand and appreciate her for who she was, accident and all, rather than one who might make her feel less than she was for it. Delia deserved happiness, even if Patsy could no longer be the one to give it.

And as they talked about the evening, and Joan and the other nurses and (time and again throughout the conversation) Robert, Delia seemed to grow more relaxed, more like the way she had been before Christmas. In spite of itself, Patsy's sore heart gave a flutter to see some of Delia's brightness return. It might not be for her, but at least it wasn't gone for good.

Even so, it was a relief to have work as an excuse to cut the conversation short and change into her uniform. Just putting it on made her feel more in control. If only she could keep it on all the time, she might even be able to bear it when it came time to go to bed that night, and lie so close beside a Delia that had become so entirely out of reach.

They arrived early at Nonnatus House, and Patsy left Delia in the kitchen where the other residents were finishing breakfast, then went alone into the cool, quiet clinical room to prepare everything for the morning's rounds. She relaxed a little as she slipped into the familiar routine of it. A row of bags, an autoclave, the familiar tools of her trade. These things she could handle.

She worked with her usual brisk efficiency, having the morning's delivery packs made up before anyone else had even finished breakfast. So it was that when the phone rang she was the first to reach it; although a moment after she had picked up the receiver Phyllis appeared, still holding her morning cup of tea in one hand.

'Slow down sir, tell me your wife's name... And how far apart are the contractions? Yes I see. Alright, try to stay calm, I'll be right there'.

She put the phone down and turned to Phyllis, who had lingered in the hall in case she was needed.

'That was Mr Moss, it seems Mary's rather close. Contractions less than ten minutes apart. Apparently she thought it was just bad back ache, until her waters went all over her basket of washing'.

'It's no wonder she was caught unawares, she's not due for almost a month. You get the delivery pack and our bags and I'll let the hospital and doctor Turner know. Oh and Nurse Mount, once you've done that could you tell Sister Julienne she'll need extra hands on deck for morning rounds? I'm coming with you'.

The next few minutes were a whirl of activity as the two of them got their things together and climbed quickly into Phyllis' car. It wasn't far, but the roads were icy and they had to go slow and carefully, so that by the time they arrived it was to find Mr Moss watching for them, his feet prancing in agitation as he waited on the doorstep to usher them inside. He was only 19 and looked even younger, with his sparse adolescent moustache and over large Adam's apple.

'Thank God you're here, she's hollering something awful. She's in the kitchen. I tried to get her to come up stairs but she-'

He broke off looking both confused and distressed.

'She slapped me and told me to push off and fetch the midwives. Except she used less delicate language if you take my meaning. I int never heard my Mary say something like-'

'Not to worry Mr Moss, we'll take it from here. I shouldn't trouble yourself too much about the slap, it's not uncommon for mothers to get a bit agitated when things get close to the sharp end. I suggest you go and wait with a neighbour until it's all over if the shouting troubles you'.

Phyllis gave the man a reassuring but firm pat on the shoulder and followed Patsy to where she was already speaking quietly to his wife.

At 17 Mary Moss was one of the youngest mothers currently on their books, and had fluctuated between nerves and excitement ever since her first visit to the clinic. The pair had followed the familiar story of marrying in haste following the discovery of their little accident, but they seemed genuinely in love and ready to make a go of it. The only trouble was, the little blighter was apparently over eager to make their family complete.

Patsy knelt beside the girl, who was huddled in a half crouch on the floor beside a basket of damp laundry. Evidently she had stayed exactly where she dropped. She was sweaty and sobbing with fear and pain, and clearly incredibly grateful to see someone who knew what they were doing.

'It's alright Mary, we'll get you sorted out now. I'm just going to examine you to see how far along you are, alright?'.

Mary's only verbal response was a whimper, but she gave a slight nod and followed Patsy's instructions while Phyllis helped her into a more suitable position.

'I'm afraid we don't have time to get you upstairs Mary. Baby's on its way'.

She looked at Phyllis over Mary's head and mouthed silently 'breach'. Phyllis nodded grimly.

The next hour was gruelling. Doctor Turner was out on his own rounds and couldn't be reached, and the hospital flying squad were apparently having trouble with the icy roads. Whatever the reason, no help came; and Patsy and Phyllis had to deal with the young, near hysterical mother and the dropping fetal heart rate alone. They had been unable to turn the baby and had had to deliver it in the breach position. The baby was small, but Mary was narrow hipped and frightened, and the delivery was a difficult one.

When at last the baby was born, he was floppy and unresponsive, and Mary struggled to grab for him.

'Why isn't my baby crying? It's meant to cry isn't it? Mum said it would cry right away!'

Phyllis stroked the girl's sweaty hair out of her eyes and Patsy was dimly aware of her telling her that Baby was just having a little trouble breathing because he was a bit early, but that Nurse Mount was doing all she could for him. Then she tuned both their voices out, leaving the mother entirely to Phyllis' care while she focused on the still little thing in her arms. She would not lose him.

Not today.

Anxious seconds ticked by as she worked on him, but at last the baby gave a little mewl, then took a deep breath and let out a great wail, screwing up his tiny face in anguish. Patsy sat back on her heals and smiled – his colour was beginning to improve. He would be alright, for all he had come early. She finished tending to him and showed him to Mary, who promptly burst into tears as she gathered him to her breast. The flying squad arrived just as the placenta was being delivered, and then there was nothing to do but write up the notes.

It had been a difficult and potentially dangerous delivery, but Patsy felt better for it. It had forced her to exist entirely as an accessory to someone else's story for a while, instead of being stuck in the middle of her own; and it had reminded her that there were worse ways to lose a person you loved than to someone else. At least Delia was safe.

She watched Mr Moss embracing his wife and gazing in rapture at his new son, and managed to consider the scene without rancour. This was something she would never have. Without Delia, she wouldn't even come close. But perhaps being the midwife to other people's joy was enough? As they left the flying squad to their business and climbed back into the Morris Minor, Patsy's eyes found Phyllis, and the question was out before she could stop it.

'Does it ever bother you, knowing that all that... that it isn't in the cards?'

It was an unforgivably rude question and Patsy felt her cheeks heating the moment it was out, but she hadn't meant it as an insult. She was genuinely curious. Until she met Delia Phyllis's was the life she had always anticipated for herself, and now she found her feet set back upon its path after getting a glimpse of something else, she couldn't help wishing for reassurance from someone who had passed that way before.

Phyllis didn't pretend not to know that Patsy was talking about herself and raised an eyebrow at her.

'You're a little young to consider yourself on the shelf aren't you Nurse Mount? Plenty of young years left to get your work done and still think about marriage and children later if it's what you want. If I'm perfectly frank I never had you down as the sort to be mooning after that life'.

Patsy sighed. She shouldn't have said anything. Even now, she could murmur an agreement and let the conversation go at that. It's not as though she could tell the truth about what had brought these feelings on.

'I'm not, really. That isn't the life I want, and I'd hate to give up nursing, it's just...'

'You sometimes wonder if one day you'll look back and feel that you missed out?'

Patsy nodded. That wasn't exactly it – she _knew_ she would miss out. Without Delia her life could never be entirely complete. But she wanted to know if work could be enough. Enough to live on, and to find meaning in. Phyllis too had lost a love after all, even if not one with the same years of commitment behind it that she and Delia had had.

'Well I can't tell you that you won't. I never wanted my own children, but even so, I occasionally find myself holding a little one with a wistful feeling. And there are times one wishes for companionship... but on the whole, I have no regrets. Life is what you make of it Nurse Mount, and it's down to you to make it into something you can be proud of. If you can look back at your life and say it was interesting, and brave, and spent well in the service of others... well, I don't see what more you can ask'.

Phyllis seemed to sense that there was no point in asking what had brought this bout of introspection on, and they drove back to Nonnatus House in silence. But it had helped.

As far as role models went, she would be hard pushed to find better than Phyllis Crane.


	36. Chapter 36

_Delia had been out with Robert a few times since new year, and it had gone well._

_Well enough._

_She did_ like _Robert, and they generally found things to talk about. She had even held his hand the last couple of times, and it had been fine. She hadn't been repulsed or embarrassed or anything unpleasant that would really indicate that she wasn't interested in him, even if his larger hand had made her feel a little like a child being escorted across the road. There hadn't been fireworks, but then who could expect so much of a hand? She tried not to remember that when she held_ Patsy's _hand it felt like coming home, and like there were suddenly more nerve endings in her palm and fingers than she'd ever realised before, and like she never wanted to let go...No. No one could expect a hand to be magical._

_Anyway, Robert was nice. Very nice. And objectively very handsome in a bookish sort of way. Joan thought so too, she'd said so... She really ought to be utterly besotted with him. Or at least to have some sort of an interest in kissing him goodnight, instead of turning it into a chaste hug as she always had at the end of the evening so far. If she was really honest with herself, it was getting hard to believe that her feelings for Robert were or ever could be more than friendship._

_And then there were the memories._

_She had been remembering more recent things over the last few days. Including what had gone wrong with her parents. Now more than ever she wished she could confide her memories to Patsy, to work through them together until they didn't have such power over her anymore. They had done it before, every time something difficult or upsetting came up. This time was different though – she didn't dare tell Patsy, because if she did the implication would be all too clear._

_Mam had known._

_All the arguments Delia had presented herself with on Christmas night to explain away her feelings for Patsy as an illusion just blew away when faced with the irrefutable evidence that mam had known for years that she was interested in women rather than men._

_When she had been young enough not to understand her own feelings, Delia had spoken rather too freely of her admiration for another girl in her class, listing her virtues in a happy burble to mam. After that she supposed it hadn't taken as much to put the idea in her head – Delia had never been interested in her male classmates, and although she had never actually had a relationship with another girl (not so far as she could remember now anyway), she had had one or two unusually close and intense friendships over the years._

_By the time she was fifteen, mam had been talking about her future husband in very certain terms and trying to get Delia to behave in a way she considered more appropriate, starting with giving up her dream of nursing. Her parents had very particular views about the role of women, and while doing a little work in a shop or office while young was acceptable, an actual career was seen as rather shameful and indecent. That had been the reason mam had only worked a few months in the munitions factory during the war - when the news reached her father's regiment he had written home forbidding her mother from continuing her work. Since she hadn't been conscripted to it and was not legally obliged to stay, Mam had come home, and Delia had had to leave nain's house._

_Then one day mam had discovered Rhys trying on one of Delia's school skirts and blazers, and things had gone from bad to worse. Her cousins had been sent home, never to return, and Delia had been soundly punished for her part in letting it happen. Naively she had told her mam that Rhys had been wearing her uniform when they played for years, there wasn't anything bad about it, he just liked skirts. Looking back it seemed obvious that that would only serve to make things much worse, but at the time Delia hadn't understood why it should make her so upset. It was just a game._

_But after that mam had been more suspicious of everything she did, convinced she had been influenced into 'perverse and unnatural inclinations'. She had insisted Delia give up all thoughts of working at her own career and settle down in earnest to become a wife and mother. When Delia refused, her father had been brought in as back up._

_Even now it was difficult to tell how much he had known about her mother's suspicions, but it seemed enough for him that Delia wanted a career, and had no plans to get married, and showed far less devotion to God than he felt she should. He had told her that children must obey their parents, and she had been told she was not to become a nurse. The argument had flared up frequently, and Delia's teenage years had been fraught with tension, especially as mam no longer allowed her to have friends in her bedroom. Eventually, when it came time for her application to study nursing, the final argument had torn them irrevocably apart._

_Mam had come into her bedroom while she was studying for her final A level examinations and sat down beside her, for once not complaining at Delia's reading on the bed rather than sitting up properly at her desk. She had started out so friendly, asking about Delia's revision and class work and offering to take her out for coconut cake that Saturday – something they hadn't done since... well, since before Rhys. And then she had dropped the bombshell._

_'Your father and I have been talking – we've considered it for years, but it's never been the right time. You're almost finished at school now though, and we think we'd all benefit from a fresh start. Somewhere with less lax, modern values'._

_'Pembrokeshire's hardly modern mam'._

_'Don't interrupt'._

_She had sounded stern for a moment, but then she caught herself and smiled again._

_'Well anyway, what I wanted to tell you is – it's the most lovely surprise for you. As soon as you've finished your exams, we're all leaving for Canada. We've done quite a bit of research and we've found the perfect little town with a good, strong Christian community'._

_She beamed at Delia, as though she expected her to be delighted... although the tension in her shoulders suggested she knew it wouldn't be that simple. Delia stared back, uncomprehending. Was it some sort of odd joke? It didn't make any sense._

_'What are you talking about mam? I can't go away on holiday now, I'm working all through the summer, to save for the things I'll need to take for training. And Canada's so far – how can we afford a holiday there anyway?'_

_'Now don't be silly cariad. It's not a holiday, we're moving there for good. It's all arranged, I applied for a passport for you and it arrived last week, and your father's seeing to the tickets. It'll be good for you to get away from corrupting influences-'_

_'I suppose you mean nain?'_

_'My mother has been undermining our authority with you for too long. If it wasn't for her you'd have given up this silly nursing nonsense years ago, but as it is you've been drifting further and further from us, and from the church. You used to be such a_ good _girl. At least most of the time'._

_'I_ used _to be afraid. Nain was the one who supported me and made me see I wasn't bad or wrong for wanting my own life. But I'm not afraid now. I'm almost eighteen, I've sent off my applications, all I need to do is get the grades and I'm going to London. It's too late. You can't make me go anymore mam!'_

_Delia had leapt up off her bed, trying uselessly to get away from her mother's words. They couldn't just kidnap her could they? Surely her mam couldn't mean it. Canada? And if she refused to go (she_ was _refusing), would they really go without her? Would they leave their daughter alone and put the entire Atlantic ocean between them? They had had their differences, but she had never imagined for a moment that it would come to this. She stood very still in the middle of her bedroom, her heart lurching painfully as she gazed back at her mother, who had risen to her feet as well now and was giving her a look of mingled sternness and sorrow._

_'Mam? You don't really mean it do you? What about all your friends? And nain? She's getting old, she'll need help... I know you don't get along, but she's still your mam. You're not really just going to go are you?'_

_Delia's eyes were filling with tears, although she was trying hard to blink them away. If it had just been the two of them there was a chance that things might have gotten better after that. Mam loved Wales, it was hard to believe she really wanted to leave either. They might have been able to discuss it. At least they might have parted on better terms. But before she could draw breath to reply her door slammed open and they both jumped._

_'Delia Busby, what is all this shouting and thumping?'_

_Dad._

_She wasn't scared though (at least she told her thumping heart sternly that she wasn't), she turned on him, arms folded, glaring._

_'Mam says you're going to Canada'._

_'_ We _are going, yes. I have decided to take my family somewhere safe, away from corrupting influences and modern vice. I should have taken you years ago, but it isn't too late. You will have a chance to do penance for your sins over the last few years, and then you shall be able to make a good marriage to a man from a strong, religious background. Your mother insists you should be allowed to finish your exams first, but if you can't be sensible about it we don't have to wait for the end of the year. I can send you and your mother away in a week, and join you there when business is wrapped up here'._

_Her father was showing all the warning signs of imminent rage that would normally have made her back down and submit – anything for a quiet life, but he had gone too far this time. She couldn't meekly obey anymore. She wouldn't._

_'I'm not going anywhere. You can't force me'._

_For a long, tense moment dad stared hard at her, the rage burning in his eyes as he waited for her to back down. When she didn't he had said in his softest, most dangerous voice:_

_'Honour thy father and thy mother Delia. If you cannot do that then you don't deserve to have parents. You will respect our wishes, or you will get out of our house until you can'._

_Delia looked from him to mam, waiting for her to argue, to tell her father he had gone too far this time, and that she wouldn't just let their daughter walk out of their lives that way... but she didn't. She looked to her husband, and she submitted._

_Delia had felt sick, her heart thumping so hard now she might have been sprinting for miles as the silence stretched between the three of them. Then, without a word she'd picked up her school bag and left the room. She had managed to stay outwardly calm all the time she was collecting her coat and shoes, and left the house without so much as slamming the door. She had enough money in her purse to catch the bus to nain's house, and had done so, expecting all the time she was waiting for it to see mam coming running down the street towards her to fetch her home. But she hadn't._

_Delia had arrived on her grandmother's doorstep, trembling so hard she had barely been able to knock. As soon as the door opened and she saw nain's kind (rather surprised) face she had broken down into tears and stood there weeping in the doorway._

_Even when she was inside with a cup of strong, well sugared tea and a piece of nain's sticky ginger cake for the shock it had been a long time before she'd been able to get the words out. When at last the story was told, nain had hugged her fiercely._

_Delia hugged her back, and in her arms was at last able to voice the feeling she had been most afraid of._

_'I can't be a nurse anymore can I? Maybe if I promise not to... If I stay here in Pembrokeshire and work with dad in the draper's... maybe then they'll agree not to go to Canada after all. At least I wouldn't lose them completely. And you wouldn't be left here alone either...'_

_Just saying it made the tears start flowing again – she couldn't bear the thought of it._

_At that nain sat back, her eyes sparking furiously, although when she replied it was clear the anger wasn't for Delia._

_'Don't even think it Delia. Not for a moment. You live your own life cariad. Go to London, be a nurse. Find happiness wherever you can. Since your grandfather died I've realised life is too short to worry about other people's idea of propriety. I stayed with a man who made me miserable for 40 years because my family told me I had to. Now he's dead and I've never been happier, God forgive me for saying so. Your mother always was more her father's daughter than mine - stubborn as mules the pair of them. She'll come round eventually. Or else she won't. That's her business. But you are special and I won't have you throwing your life away the way I did. Not for your mam and not for me either. You'll stay here with me until your exams are finished and it's time for you to go off to London, and then you'll spread your wings the way you were always meant to. And if your mother or that husband of hers try to make trouble over it they shall answer to me. No more tears now'._

_Right up until the day they left Delia had existed in a state of mingled hope and fear – simultaneously expecting her parents to announce that they were staying after all... and to come over to nain's house and drag Delia bodily from the house into a taxi. If anyone could find a way to force her to Canada against her will, it was them. Neither eventuality had happened however, and Delia's parents had left on the appointed day with hardly a word for their daughter._

_So now she knew._ THIS _was the falling out that mam had blamed on her when Delia couldn't remember her own past. She had made her feel so guilty about it, and yet all Delia had done was try to have her own future. She hadn't betrayed them, or tried to hurt them. If anything it had been the other way round._

_The memories burned in Delia as she lay in the dark beside Patsy every night. During the day she was able to distract herself from the emotions the new crowd of recollections brought with them, but at night tears flowed silently down her cheeks to soak into her pillow as wave after wave of feelings – anger, grief, loneliness, regret, confusion – swept over her. She knew that all she'd have to do would be to reach across and shake Patsy's shoulder to be instantly wrapped in strong, comforting arms, but she didn't do it. Then she would have to explain. And then Patsy would hate her too._

_Because this wasn't normal, was it? What she felt now for Patsy wasn't what she was supposed to feel. It was wrong... But it didn't_ feel _wrong. Actually if felt more completely right than anything had since she woke up in the hospital with no idea who she was. Mam had acted as though it was something so horrifying that even mentioning it out loud would be enough to stain a person's soul indelibly, but then mam hadn't approved of nursing either. Or nain for that matter. And besides Patsy, those were the two most wonderful things she had had in her life. She wouldn't believe that they were wicked just because mam said so. The only difference with Delia's interest in women rather than men was that the rest of the world agreed with her mother._

_Delia's thoughts drifted back to a ten year old Rhys, kicking up his knees and whirling round and round so that the skirt he was wearing flew in a circle around him, then collapsing dizzily in a heap on her bed, breathless with laughter. She remembered Nancy Gordon, her best friend when she was fourteen, who Delia had shared everything with. They had spent every spare minute together, and Delia had loved her as earnestly and innocently as any other school girl with their first real crush, though she hadn't realised it at the time. They had held hands, and made each other friendship bracelets to seal their pact that they would never bother with dating any boys, but would only stay friends with each other instead. If they ever wanted to go to dances or things that normally involved a partner, they simply wouldn't have dates, because what boy could be better than your best friend?_

_None of it, not Rhys or Nancy or Delia herself,_ none _of it had been hurting anyone. So why was it anyone else's business? A stubborn, brave part of Delia dared to point out that perhaps it was society that was wrong after all. Because could finding joy and loving something or someone ever really be so bad?_

_But then Delia's eyes found Patsy again and she winced internally. Of course it could be bad. If the other person didn't love you the same way; if the very idea of your feelings for them would be appalling and embarrassing to that person should they ever find out, then you should put those feelings aside and find someone who_ did _like you that way._

_Robert liked Delia. Maybe it really was for the best._


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm putting this chapter up early as requested by Charlotte, for her birthday
> 
> Happy Birthday! :D

Since she had spoken to Phyllis, Patsy was determined to stop feeling sorry for herself and start living. Even if it meant just going through the motions of having a life of her own, that had to be better than moping about waiting for the day Delia decided to leave altogether.

It was to this end that Patsy had invited Barbara and Trixie over as soon as she'd learned they were both available that Friday evening. It might not exactly be going out dancing all night or a weekend away in Paris, but it made a change from spending all their time at Nonnatus House; which, nice as it was, was still a convent. At least in the flat they could be sure that Sister Evangelina wasn't about to poke her head around the door and tell them to turn their music down, or Sister Monica Joan to come come in and confiscate their snacks. Besides which, having both Trixie and Barbara here might help Patsy and Delia interact more easily too, since they'd have the buffer of other people around.

That last was a secret hope that Patsy held in her heart right up until the moment a knock on the door announced the arrival of Robert, toppling her plans as easily as a house of playing cards. She had tried hard not to resent Delia's young man over the last few weeks, she really had; but in that moment she couldn't help the flash of annoyance at the sight of him standing there in his neatly pressed suit, his curly hair slicked back so thoroughly that it gleamed wetly in the light spilling out of the open door. Even when she and Delia had been a couple, every minute they'd had together was meticulously planned and hard fought for, she had never been able to just turn up without a word of forewarning like this. Frankly, it was rude. A small, hard part of Patsy hoped that Delia would tell him so, that she would say she had other plans and shut the door on his amiable enthusiasm. She _did_ seem a little annoyed that Robert hadn't asked first, but in the end acquiesced to his request and went to fetch her coat. Of course she did. Even if she had wanted to stay, an evening at home with a few friends was hardly an acceptable excuse for declining the pre-bought cinema tickets Robert was brandishing. But the truth was, Delia probably _wanted_ to go.

As she watched them walking off down the street together, Patsy had considered calling to cancel the evening's arrangements. All of a sudden she wasn't really in the mood... but that probably meant there was all the more reason for her to see her other friends. Her alternative could very definitely be considered moping, and Patience Mount was nobody's heartsick teenager. Besides, she _had_ promised to be available more for Trixie's sake.

It was only about half an hour until her friends were due to arrive, but all the same it seemed an eternity, and Patsy found herself wandering rather aimlessly from room to room in the empty flat. Normally she would turn to cleaning to calm her thoughts and make herself feel more in control, but she had felt this way so often recently that every room was already spotless. She tried listening to the wireless, but it seemed too loud in the silent living room, almost vulgar in its cheerful blaring and she switched it off quickly. Was this what it would be like every night if Delia decided to move out? Or would Nonnatus House let Patsy move back there instead? Did she _want_ to go back? She sighed and tried hard to turn her thoughts from such bleak musings. Delia had only been dating Robert a few weeks, it wasn't as though they were about to get married.

At last Patsy heard a gentle tapping at the front door, and was so pleased not to be alone with her thoughts anymore that when she opened it her greeting came out quite merry.

'Babs! I'm so glad you could make it, it's wonderful to see you!'

She hugged her friend with uncharacteristic enthusiasm and then glanced at the empty doorway.

'Didn't Trixie come with you? She said she would'.

'She'll be along soon. Her last case was a tad more complicated than anticipated and she arrived home with vomit in her shoes just as I was getting ready to leave. She said she'd catch up after a bath and a hearty dose of disinfectant for her brogues'.

Patsy wrinkled her nose as she moved aside to let Barbara squeeze past into the narrow hall.

'Poor Trixie. I can't imagine why it is, but she always seems to be the one in the firing line when there's vomit on the scene'.

'I know, Trix was saying exactly the same thing. Last I saw she was squelching up the stairs in her wet shoes muttering a list of all the times she's been caught in the last month like she was saying a rosary. It would have been funny if I didn't feel so sorry for her. I think if she didn't have you and Delia to focus on this evening she would have been quite the shirty Gerty about it, but we've both been looking forward to this so much she's trying to keep her chin up'.

Patsy tried to act casual as she led the way into the lounge and offered Barbara a seat, but for all she had attempted to brace herself for this, now the moment had arrived she found she still didn't feel ready for it.

She hadn't told Barbara and Trixie about Robert yet, and she didn't think Delia had either. She had _almost_ blurted it out both of them a dozen times, but something always held her back. She told herself it was Delia's right to decide when to mention Robert to other people, and that sounded right... but she still couldn't decide if that's what she genuinely believed, or if it was merely cowardice that made her keep quiet. Either way, there was no putting it off any longer.

'I hope Trixie won't be too disappointed with just my company then. Delia won't be joining us this evening. Her chap called round about half an hour ago with tickets to the cinema as a surprise'.

Barbara stopped, poised ridiculously half way between standing and sitting on the sofa, her mouth hanging open like a bizarre caricature of shock for a long moment before she seemed to come back to herself.

'What?! Delia's on a _date?_ But she can't be! What... what about the two of you?'.

Patsy could feel her own jaw struggling to drop open as Barbara's had done a moment before and felt a hysterical urge to laugh, because until now she had always assumed 'jaw dropping' to be a turn of phrase rather than a literal physical phenomenon. She fought to hold herself together in the face of what seemed to be a bizarre dream. It couldn't be real. If it was she wouldn't be standing here thinking about dropping jaws and trying not to laugh. She'd be panicking. She'd be denying it. She'd be... Besides, how could Barbara _possibly_ know about her and Delia? Trixie would never have told, she was far too careful to let it slip, and no one else knew. No one in the world but Patsy herself.

All at once the wild compulsion to laugh tipped and she found herself struggling not to cry as the truth sunk in. She had been so careful. Had it all been for nothing? Was she really still in danger even now, when Delia was out with her... with Robert? She had no idea how long it was between Barbara speaking and her own stammered ' _what?'_ but she must have looked appalled because Barbara cheeks were beginning to turn as red as her hairband and she looked mortified.

'Oh Patsy. Did I get it wrong? I'm so sorry, how embarrassing! I just thought... well I always thought the two of you were a couple. Please don't be upset. I didn't mean any offence by it truly. I always thought it was nice...'

Patsy raised an eyebrow, still not entirely certain she wouldn't wake up in a moment, but beginning to feel a little less panicked at Barbara's obviously positive reaction.

'Well... But Babs how on _Earth_ did you know? And how can you say it so casually, as if it's nothing out of the ordinary? Is it... am I really so obvious?'

'Oh no, of course not. It's just... when I was a little girl I used to stay with my aunt Serena a lot. Or rather, with her and her companion, Berenice. They ran a B&B together back in Liverpool and they were supposed to be business partners, but... well, you look at Delia the same way Auntie Serena looked at Bernie. They always seemed so happy together I didn't even think about the fact that they were both women. Not until I was quite a bit older and I heard people talking about queers anyway; but by that time it just seemed normal to me, even if it was something we didn't mention out loud. I'm sorry, I suppose I should have known better than to bring it up... I just... I sort of forgot I hadn't actually asked you about it yet. Sorry if I gave you a fright. If it helps, I don't think anyone else will have noticed. Most people don't seem to realise it's even possible for two women'.

Patsy shook her head slowly as she stared at her friend.

'All this time we've thought you so innocent and unworldly Barbara, but you take everything in your stride as if you've seen it a thousand times. You really are a wonder'.

'Sorry'.

'Sorry? Babs, you're _amazing_! Just wait until I tell Trixie, she'll be in stitches. We thought you'd be so shocked if you ever found out'.

'I don't understand why everyone thinks me so innocent, I've always thought of myself as quite a cynical person'.

Patsy couldn't help it, she started to giggle helplessly. The whole situation was so surreal and unexpected that she was feeling almost drunk, as if her brain had simply given up on trying to interpret the rush of emotions that had flowed through it this evening. At Barbara's frown she tried hard to stop, but another peal of laughter bubbled up to the surface against her will. She still couldn't quite decide whether any of this was really happening.

'Babs, you are practically made of sunshine and rainbows, if you _have_ got a cynical bone in your body I don't think it can be anything larger than your malleus'.

Barbara seemed a little disappointed by the answer, but not really surprised and, thankfully, not upset by Patsy's outburst.

' _Really_? Not... not even a bit?'

'Sorry old thing. If it's any consolation, that's why we love you'.

'Hmm... wait... The _two_ of you thought I'd be shocked... You mean Trixie knows?'

'Yes... it seems I wasn't nearly as good at hiding things from you two as I thought. She asked me out right if Delia and I had been a couple just after Delia came home from the hospital'.

'And she didn't mind?'

'No. She's been wonderful actually'.

'Oh I'm so glad! And I'm so happy for you and Delia, I always _hoped_ I was right about you two, you always seemed so good together...'

Suddenly Barbara's expression changed as she remembered where Delia was 'Oh Patsy... oh no. Delia's on a date. Oh I'm so sorry. She... she doesn't remember about the two of you then?'

'No, she doesn't remember. But it's alright'.

'Is it?'

'Well no. Of course not. I'm sick with jealousy when I see them together, and knowing that we'll never... knowing I've lost what we once had hurts even more than I thought it would. I thought I'd come to terms with this after the accident, but I don't think the reality of what that meant really hit me. Not until I saw Delia on Robert's arm, leaning into him the way she used-'

Patsy broke off abruptly, closing her eyes for a few moments while she tried to pull herself together. She couldn't go down that line of thought. The wound was still too fresh.

'The point is, I said from the first that whatever Delia chose, I would be here for her. She's chosen Robert and no matter how sad I am for myself, how can I be anything other than happy for her? I love her too much to wish things were otherwise. Life will be so much easier for her this way. She has a chance to be normal _and_ happy. I could justify our being together when we both had to choose one or the other, but not any more; not when Robert really _is_ a nice person, much as I hate to admit it. Delia is far too sensible to go out with some awful creep that I could hate on principle. So... I'm her friend. And even if it isn't alright, I put a jolly good show of it on – Delia never has to know'.

Barbara was looking utterly heartbroken on Patsy's behalf, shaking her head as if she wanted to argue but couldn't quite work out how, when Trixie arrived.

Patsy had barely had a chance to get the door open before Barbara spoke up in a voice that wasn't quite a wail, but probably wanted to be when it grew up.

'Trixie it's awful, Delia's on a _date'._

Trixie looked startled, glancing at Patsy for confirmation and then looking back at Barbara, her eyes widening. She spoke quickly, clearly trying to limit any damage her reaction might have caused while simultaneously attempting to work out what she'd missed.

'What a shame we won't see her tonight. Am I to take it from that reaction Barbara that the chap in question isn't worthy of our Delia?'

Patsy gave her a grateful smile.

'Thanks Trix, but there's no need. Barbara knows about Delia and I'.

'You _told_ her?'

'No, she-'

'I guessed. _Ages_ ago. Honestly, you never give me enough credit Trixie!'

'Well... be fair Barbara, this isn't like me underestimating your ability to flirt in a bar, or... I don't know, pick out a flattering bathing suit. This is – well, how many people _would_ guess when Patsy's so good at keeping things under wraps?'

Barbara looked rather pleased with herself then.

'Not many, but I did. Anyway Trixie, you're missing the essential point. Delia is on a date with someone other than Patsy! It's horrible. It was awful enough to think of her not remembering about them, but to actually be with someone _else_...'

'Ah, yes. About that. Patsy. What are you doing about this?'.

Trixie sat down beside Barbara on the sofa, leaving Patsy to take Delia's arm chair, and then leaned forwards as if preparing to interrogate her.

'Doing? I'm not doing anything. It's up to Delia who she dates, there's nothing I _can_ -'

But Trixie cut across her, her arms folded like a stern school teacher faced with a particularly stubborn child.

'That's utter nonsense Patsy. You need to step back from your own self-martyrdom for a moment and consider whether you're really doing this to give Delia a choice, or because you're scared'.

'Now hold on Trixie, I think you're being a bit-'

'No Barbara, let me finish. Patsy is far too much in the habit of thinking she doesn't deserve happiness, but this time she isn't the only one at stake. Patsy – have you considered the fact that Delia is regaining more memories all the time? It's only a matter of time before she _does_ remember all about the two of you, and when she does, how do you think she'll feel knowing that you just let her go without any sort of a fight? What if she remembers when it's too late and she's already made some sort of a commitment to this boy, simply because she doesn't know there's another option?'

Patsy sat still for a few moments, stunned by Trixie's stern rebuke. She had, if she was honest with herself, expected sympathy. She had expected her friend to say how sad it was, but that Patsy was doing the right thing by letting Delia live her own life as she wanted to. She had not expected to be told off. It was true that she hadn't thought about it that way before though. Could it really be that she was holding back out of fear, and only dressing it up as a more noble sentiment to spare her own pride? Why hadn't she thought about it from Delia's perspective sooner? Patsy had been so busy trying not to make another assumption the way she had with the painting that perhaps she had gone too far in the other direction; refusing to see signs that should have told her it was time to tell Delia the truth...

When her silence continued Trixie spoke again, her tone gentler, as if dealing with someone in shock.

'I know you're trying to give her a choice, and that's as it should be... but can you really say she's had one if she doesn't know that you are even a possibility?'

'Well...'

'I bet it was Delia that made the first move last time, wasn't it? When you first got together?'

Patsy nodded. Of course it had been Delia. Delia had always been the brave one, when it came to feelings.

'Yes, I thought so. Well now it's _your_ turn to take the risk Patsy. You have to tell her the truth. Tell her, and _then_ let her decide what she wants'.

It made sense. It made much more sense, now she heard it put that way, than what she had been doing up to now. Perhaps Trixie was right, and she _had_ been making a martyr of herself.

'I suppose you're right...'

'Good. Then tell her tonight, you hear me?'

'Tonight? But Trixie-'

'No excuses, if you don't do it now you've resolved to, you'll just keep finding reasons to put it off'.

'And if she's horrified? If she wants me out the flat?'

'Then you'll come to us of course! But she won't Patsy, I know she won't'.

'Barbara's right. If the worst happens and Delia asks you to leave, then you come to Nonnatus house for the night. You're not homeless Patsy. If Delia throws you out then you go there... and _I'll_ come back here and have words with her'.

Of course Trixie wouldn't _really_ come marching over in the middle of the night to tell Delia off for hurting her (at least she didn't think so – she WAS looking pretty fierce just at that moment), but the assertion made her smile, and she hugged her friend.

'Alright. I'll tell her. I'll tell her tonight. I promise'.

'Good'.

'Well done Patsy. It's the right thing to do. But still, you are awfully brave'.

Barbara got up from the sofa to hug her too, and Patsy felt the hope she had thought dead forever come flooding back into her limbs. It felt like electricity – painful and dangerous, but filling her with energy, and the warmth of knowing that it might not have to be over after all.

The rest of the evening was pleasant enough, but more than once the conversation drifted into silence as Patsy lost the thread of what she had been saying and stopped part way through a sentence. She was too absorbed in thinking about what was going to happen later. If their slightly forced cheerfulness was anything to go by, Barbara and Trixie were thinking about it too.


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To those people that mentioned the cliff hanger at the end of the last chapter... you are going to utterly hate me today with this little time jump back to the beginning of the evening *ducks behind a handy wall to avoid thrown things*

_Delia's first feeling on opening the door to find Robert waiting was primarily one of annoyance. She'd hardly seen her friends in the weeks since new year, at least not properly, and she'd been looking forward to spending the evening with them. Actually, she had been very close to telling Robert that there was no way she could come out with him, but... well he looked so hopeful. And he was brandishing the tickets he'd already bought as if he were giving her the moon._

_She sighed. He meant well, but so often he seemed to assume that he knew her tastes better than she did. Why couldn't he just_ ask _what she wanted, instead of trying to surprise her with misplaced romantic gestures all the time?_

_'Alright Robert, I_ will _come out with you, but I do wish you'd asked. I had plans for the evening and if you'd only sent a note I could have told you another night would've worked better'._

_'Oh... sorry Delia. But we'll have much more fun than you would here, you'll see!'_

_To that Delia made no comment, just stood aside to let Robert in and then went to fetch her coat. She passed Patsy in the hall on the way to the bedroom, and wished again that she'd thought of a way to decline without being rude._

_'I'm sorry Pats, he didn't tell me he was coming. I really did want to see Trixie and Barbara with you, but... I'd better go. He bought tickets already'._

_Patsy nodded, but she didn't speak. Delia had once been able to tell Patsy's moods even without words, and although she still got a sense of it, it had been harder since new year, as if Patsy had withdrawn into herself. It was like that now, and it broke Delia's heart. She'd have given anything to go back to the way things were between them._

_Instead she left Patsy and Robert to make stilted small talk in the lounge while she got ready to go as quickly as possible. She considered changing, or doing something more with her hair or make-up, but in the end she decided not to bother. If Robert was going to turn up out of the blue he could hardly expect her to have made a big effort beforehand, and the outfit she had been wearing in anticipation of Barbara and Trixie's arrival was smart enough not to put her to shame in a cinema. Besides, she didn't like leaving Patsy and Robert alone. They were perfectly polite to each other, but it was impossible to miss the discomfort that pervaded a room with the two of them in it, no small portion of which came from Delia herself. All things considered, she preferred to keep these two parts of her life separate._

_It was for that reason that she hurried Robert out the door as soon as she'd pulled on coat and shoes. She had been in such a rush that she'd almost forgotten her scarf, but at the door Patsy handed it to her with a half smile that looked almost mournful._

' _Keep warm'._

_Delia had taken the scarf, her fingers brushing Patsy's as she did so. She felt a jolt go through her at the contact and their eyes met. She felt sure that Patsy's were trying to tell her something, if only she knew what it was. Her lips parted around the question, willing the distance between them to close… but then Robert put an arm proprietorially around her and gave Patsy a smile._

' _Not to worry, I shall be sure to take good care of Delia. I shan't let her take a chill'._

_And the moment had broken._

_Delia and Robert left the flat, leaving Patsy standing alone in the doorway. She didn't look back, but Delia heard the soft click when Patsy shut the door behind them._

' _... kept a few of them though, sentimentality I suppose'._

_Delia realised that Robert had been speaking ever since they said goodbye to Patsy and she hadn't listened to a word. Even when she wasn't distracted he spoke so softly that she often had to lean in as they walked to catch what he said, and this time her mind had been so full of Patsy that she hadn't the faintest notion what he was talking about._

' _Sorry, what did you say?'_

_Robert gave her a sympathetic look and patted the hand he had threaded through his arm when they started walking._

' _Amnesia making your mind wander is it? I was talking about farthings. Officially out of use as of New year's day. But I kept a few of mine. I always liked the wren on the back, didn't you? Charming fellow. When I was a boy I'd always ask for a ha'penny in farthings, it made me feel richer and I liked the jangle of coins in my pockets'._

' _Yes I suppose so. I never really thought about it. But yes it's a nice bird. I don't think I have any farthings left lying around though. I'm not much of a hoarder'._

' _You can have one of mine if you like. I could polish it up special for you, get a really good shine on it'._

' _Thank you Robert, but there's really no need. I'm sure you'll get more enjoyment out of them than I would'._

_There was silence for a minute as they both cast about for something else to say, and at last Delia fell back on pleasantries._

' _Have you had a good day at work?'_

' _Oh yes, it was fair enough, I was going to bring you a strawberry tart I'd made, but I'm afraid I dropped the bag and my Charlie – the dog you know – well, he got to it before I could salvage the situation'._

' _Well, it was a kind thought, thank you anyway'._

' _That's alright... You are pretty Delia'._

_She felt her cheeks colouring, but it was a blush of discomfort more than pleasure at the compliment. They had had this conversation before, and the out-of-the-blue statement inevitably led on to Robert asking if today might be the day she'd allow him to kiss her. He was never overly pushy about it - when Delia said she wasn't ready for that he accepted it, but he seemed baffled by her continued refusal, and Delia too was beginning to feel awkward about her disinclination. He already thought her terribly old fashioned and probably rather a prude, though he didn't actually say the word. But today she could still feel the warmth of Patsy's fingers where they had brushed against hers, and she couldn't let it even get as far as the question. Maybe she couldn't let any of it get any further than it already had. She had tried hard to like Robert, no one could refute that. She had been on dates, and made an effort to take an interest in the things he cared about, and found things to admire in his appearance until she had almost had herself fooled… but no amount of dancing or holding hands with him could measure up to that momentary contact with Patsy. This wasn't going to work. It_ hadn't _worked. And it wasn't fair on Robert to keep pretending it might._

' _Robert… I think we need to talk'._

_Robert's earnest, amiable face fell. Delia had never met anyone with such expressive_ skin _as Robert had. It sounded odd, but where another person would raise and lower their eyebrows, his entire forehead right up beyond the hairline would move, so that in the right light hair seemed to wash up and down his brow like waves on the shore of his changing emotions. He would puff out his cheeks or suck them in as he spoke, his mouth had a capacity to pinch to a tiny button or spread in a grin like a slice of melon that seemed to defy the laws of physics. Now when she spoke, his whole face contracted until it seemed even his ears were drooping a little bit._

' _Now don't say that. Every chap knows that nothing good ever follows those words'._

' _I'm sorry, it's just that-'_

_Robert held up a hand to stop her._

' _I already got the tickets. If we must have that sort of talk, can't we just go and watch the film first? Give me a chance to show you such a good time you'll forget about… what you wanted to say'._

_Delia bit her lip. She wasn't sure she could bear to sit beside him, holding the words between her teeth throughout an entire film and knowing she was about to hurt him. But she felt she owed him something. He was kind, and understanding, and he deserved better than she could give._

' _Alright, if you're sure that's what you want'._

' _It is'._

_Robert took hold of her hand as they walked the rest of the way to the cinema, threading his fingers through hers and swinging their hands between them as if he hadn't a care in the world._

' _What can I get you to eat? Choc ice?'_

' _It's only January, isn't it a bit cold for ice cream?'_

' _Alright, something else. Pick anything you like. Nothing is too good for you. You're going to have the best night of your life'._

_In contrast to his usual soft spoken manner, Robert was talking a little too loudly, his voice falsely hearty as if he were trying to prove to anyone and everyone in the building that they were having a nice, romantic evening together. The young man selling snacks gave him a bemused look, but didn't comment. Although she didn't actually want Robert to buy her anything and had said so more than once, in the end Delia accepted a box of poppets simply so that he would agree to go inside._

_As the lights lowered and the film began she sat with the box unopened in her lap. Even if she had actually wanted the sweets she'd have had trouble managing them, as Robert still hadn't released her hand. If anything he was holding it tighter, as though he were afraid she might run right out of the cinema if he didn't hang onto her. She tried to focus on Major Jock Sinclair and_ _Lieutenant Colonel Basil Barrow in the opening scene, but in reality she was finding it hard to concentrate, or to care what happened next. Now she had resolved to tell Robert that she couldn't see him anymore, she just wanted to get it over with. It couldn't be good for either of them, sitting here pretending._

_By the time Sinclair was escorted from the barracks to salutes from the other soldiers (Delia had missed a good deal of the plot in her own ruminations, so wasn't entirely sure how they'd come to that point), her hand felt almost numb from being gripped so tightly; and as the lights came up she used the excuse of fastening her scarf more securely about her throat to reclaim it._

_When they got outside Robert paused in his stream of enthusiasm for the film to say_

' _I thought we'd go to a pub next. The Coach and Horses is near here. I don't suppose they'll do that cherry thing you liked so much, but I'll get you a gin and tonic or a glass of sherry'._

' _Robert…'_

' _You're right of course I shouldn't assume. A pint of beer then. Or cider. Whiskey on the rocks'._

_He seemed to think if he could only keep her from saying the words, it wouldn't happen. Delia reached out and put a hand on his arm._

' _Robert'._

_He sighed, thrusting his hands into his trouser pockets and once again putting Delia in mind of a school boy._

' _You really do mean to chuck me then?'_

' _I'm sorry'._

' _Is it the pastry? I know it's not the most manly profession in the world, and you nurses can expect to find a doctor, or even a surgeon if you hold out a bit… but an architect is pretty respectable, and it won't be long before I'm there. Not in the scheme of things'._

' _Of course it isn't that! Honestly, Robert, I don't think there's anything wrong with what you do for a living. I never did. There's nothing wrong with you. You're a wonderful person, and I wish I did want the same things you want, but… I just don't feel the spark'._

' _The spark?'_

' _Yes, you know… the thing that takes two people from being good friends to wanting more. I like you a lot, but it's a friendship sort of liking. I don't want anything else. It wouldn't be fair to keep waiting for the spark to come when I'm pretty sure it never will'._

_Much to Delia's surprise, Robert gave a little laugh then._

' _Is that all? Well I could have told you from the start why that is! Delia, of course you don't feel this- this mystical sparkle when we haven't so much as kissed. If you treat a chap like a friend it's no wonder your feelings get confused'._

' _I think you've looking at it the wrong way round, the reason I haven't wanted to kiss you is_ because _-'_

' _Look, just let me kiss you once. Just one good, proper kiss, and then if you still don't feel anything afterwards then so be it'._

' _I'm sorry, I really don't think that will change anything'._

' _Then it won't hurt anything to try will it? Please Delia. Just once'._

_She sighed. She didn't want to kiss him… but what if he was right? What if that_ was _all it took? If she could really, properly like Robert then things could be back as they should be with her and Patsy. And she wouldn't have to hurt him either._

' _Alright'._

_He gave her his space-defying smile and took a step closer. They were a way away from the cinema by now, in the pool of shadow between two street lamps. There were a few people around further up the street, but not so many that it seemed really improper to do as Robert asked. For some reason Delia's impulse was that kissing was a private thing - something to be done only behind closed doors, away from prying eyes… but in fact most people would find it a great deal more shocking for her to shut herself away than to kiss Robert on the street, where there was no chance of them doing more than was proper. She swallowed down her reluctant nerves as best she could and took a small step herself, meeting Robert half way. This was fine. It was just a kiss. It was_ fine.

_Robert leaned down towards her, both hands coming up to cup her cheeks as he closed the gap. His hands were large and rough against her face so that she felt almost trapped, and had to resist the urge to shake her head to remove them. And then his lips were pushing at hers and the trace of stubble that remained even after shaving was scratching her chin and her nose was full of the scent of his aftershave._

_Her eyes closed reflexively on the sight of Robert above her, and without her meaning it to, her mind went to Patsy. Her soft lips; the wonderful, safe feeling of her arms holding her close; the familiar, comfortable smell of her; the hands she used to touch a dozen times a day and feel her heart leap without any effort whatsoever every single time..._

_A tear slipped unbidden from beneath her closed eyelid and rolled down her cheek._

_Robert must have felt it as it reached his fingers, because he pulled back at once, looking guilty._

' _Oh God. Don't cry Delia. I'm sorry. I didn't meant to make you- I take it that's still a no then?'_

_She wiped her eyes quickly, angry with herself. She didn't want to make him feel guilty for this._

' _I'm afraid so. But please don't be sorry, it isn't your fault. I'm afraid I just- I just can't'._

_Robert nodded, his hands back in his pockets._

' _Well. No one can say we didn't give it a good try…'_

_He smiled at her, and then clearly trying to lighten the mood and show there were no hard feelings added:_

' _If you happen to know any other pretty nurses with captivating accents though, do put in a good word for me won't you?'_

_Delia laughed a little shakily, still trying hard to suppress the tears._

' _There's always Joan. Her accent's stronger than mine and she's already said how handsome you are._ And _she bakes'._

_It wasn't quite his watermelon-slice smile, but it it was at least a grapefruit._

' _I hope I'll get to meet her properly some time… Delia… I think I should probably walk you home now. You look like you could do with being with your friends, and I think I'd like to skip the pub and head home too'._

' _You don't have to walk with me. Honestly, I'll be fine. It's very good of you, but after everything, it's really not necessary'._

_He shrugged, and his voice was back to it's usual gentle quietness._

' _It is to me. I know it's not that late, but it's dark,and I wouldn't feel right about not seeing you safe. At least to the end of your road. Most of it's on my way anyway'._

' _Alright... Thank you'._

_The short walk back to Delia's road was a quiet one, but when they reached it she and Robert exchanged a farewell hug that was as genuine as it was melancholy._

' _I mean it Robert. Thank you'._

_He nodded wordlessly, then gave her a last, lingering close-lipped smile and walked away, back the way he had come. For a few moments Delia watched him go - the boy who, had things been different, she might perhaps have loved._

_When at last he was lost to the shadows, Delia turned back to the door in front of her, and the woman who she could no longer deny she_ did _love. She still had no idea what to do about her feelings for Patsy, but whatever it was, she wouldn't try dating someone else again._

_Taking a deep breath, she turned the key in the lock._


	39. Chapter 39

It seemed almost as though Patsy had summoned Delia through the sheer strength of her thoughts when, less than two hours after Barbara and Trixie's arrival, they heard the sound of a key in the door.

'Is that Delia already?'

'It must be, she's the only one with a key. It's ever so early though'.

Patsy had hardly had time to begin worrying over what might have happened to cut the date short however when Delia herself was there, looking subdued but not ill or deeply upset. She glanced up as she stepped into the lounge, and tried to smile at Barbara and Trixie.

'Hello Delia! This is a nice surprise. Are you going to join us?'

Delia shook her head.

'Thanks Trix, but I'm tired. I think I'll have an early night. You all carry on though, it won't disturb me'.

It was only just coming up to nine o'clock, but Delia went straight through to the bedroom and closed the door after her, leaving a silence in her wake.

'Oh dear'.

'Maybe I should wait-'

' _No'._

Trixie and Barbara spoke together so emphatically that Patsy couldn't help but smile, in spite of the adrenaline still coursing through her veins and the new worry over Delia's apparent upset.

'Alright, I only thought – but if it's going to be tonight you'd both better go, otherwise she'll go to bed before I get the chance'.

Part of Patsy (the frightened part) almost hoped that Delia _would_ be asleep by the time she'd finished waving Trixie and Barbara off down the street, so she could put it off just for just one more night. After all, the decision had been so sudden. If she had more time to prepare she might be able to plan exactly the right words to say so that Delia wouldn't be appalled. With more time, she could set up a contingency plan in case it all went wrong. She could test the waters; and time her confession so they weren't about to face a night in the same bed that might now be intensely uncomfortable; and pack a bag, just in case the scenario that the doom-oriented part of her mind insisted was a possibility in spite of everything she knew about Delia really did come true...

It was these thoughts that kept her lingering on the doorstep for long moments beyond what could strictly be considered necessary, her hand still raised in a farewell that neither Trixie nor Barbara were looking for. It would be easy to put it off. She could wash the few dishes they had used, plump the sofa cushions, sweep up the non-existent crumbs that might hypothetically have found their way onto the carpet during the gathering. If Delia fell asleep before she had time to go to her that was hardly her fault... But even as she thought these things, she knew she wouldn't do any of them. Patience Mount was not the sort to shrink timidly away from something once she had resolved to do it, it simply wasn't in her nature. And whatever happened next... at least she would know.

Heart rattling painfully in her chest, Patsy made her way to the bedroom, pausing for only a moment before knocking lightly and pushing open the door. Inside, Delia was sitting fully dressed on the bed, knees drawn up to her chest and back against the wall. For all her claims of exhaustion she had made no attempt to change into pyjamas or get properly under the covers, or apparently do anything at all. She was just...sitting. She looked sad, and deeply weary, and again Patsy wondered if she should wait for a better time for this conversation... but then 'better times' had been few and far between since boxing day; and as Trixie had pointed out, the further she let things get between Delia and Robert the more complicated the whole situation would become.

It had to be now.

Right now.

'Deels? Would it be alright if I come in? There's something... there's something I need to talk to you about'.

Oh God, how had Delia _done_ this, all that time ago when they'd first become a couple? Patsy had always known it was brave of her to make the first move of course, but it was only now she found herself faced with the same task that she realised just _how much_ courage it took. And it had been worse for Delia – she had had to take a true leap of faith. Patsy at least had proof that Delia had loved her once before, and it was _still_ almost impossible to get the words out. Her knees were actually shaking as if they might give in at any moment. Her heart was thumping so hard it felt almost as though it might bruise her ribcage. She had to remind herself continually of how to breath, to move, to form words.

Delia seemed to realise that whatever it was must be serious, because the closed look on her face became one of mingled fear and concern, and she nodded, although a little hesitantly, as though she expected Patsy to say she'd done something wrong. Fleetingly, Patsy wondered again what had been going through Delia's head since Christmas. What was it that she felt so unable to confide, that had made her withdraw so completely? She seemed, if anything... guilty. But it was no good dwelling on that now. All that could come later. Whatever else Delia felt after her confession, she would at least be certain that Patsy _wasn't_ angry with her.

Screwing up her courage, Patsy sat down on the other side of the mattress. Not too close though, just in case Delia didn't want her there after she said the next part.

'Delia, I... I haven't been entirely honest with you. Up until now I didn't say anything because it seemed unfair to push something like this onto you, especially when you met Robert and seemed to be getting on with him so well'.

'Pats, about Robert-'

'Please let me say it all now, or I'll never be brave enough. Then, if you still want to talk to me when you know... tell me afterwards. Alright?'

Delia looked apprehensive and confused by the request, but nodded, waiting for Patsy to go on.

'I think it's time I tell you who we really are – who we _were_ to each other. I thought that by not saying anything I was letting you decide your own future, but you can't do that unless you have all the facts'.

She swallowed hard, then took a deep breath and plunged on, past the point of no return. From this moment forward she was laying herself entirely bare; her heart and her future Delia's to keep or tear apart as she chose. It was the ultimate act of trust, and in spite of the erratic pounding of her pulse, there was no one in the world she would rather give it to.

'Delia, before your accident... before your accident you and I were very much in love. We would have married if we could, but as it was, we took this flat together so there would be somewhere in the world we could live together as a couple without other people seeing it'.

Patsy paused in her explanation and took Delia's ring from her pocket. She had told herself it was foolish and self indulgent a thousand times... but even so, every time she got dressed she had slipped it into the pocket of whatever she was wearing that day. It had felt too sad to leave the skin-warmed metal to grow cool and dusty in a draw. Too much like abandoning _them_ _._ No matter what she'd told herself or her friends about letting Delia go after she had started seeing Robert, Patsy had been unable to sever that final connection. Now she held it out so that Delia could see it - a small, unassuming silver band, its stones half obscured by the chain pooled around it. Such a little thing, to hold so many hopes and dreams.

'This is yours. I gave it to you after you told me how much you wished you could get married. It was the closest I could do to proposing to you for real. It wasn't legally recognised of course, but it was real to us... Deels. I need to tell you that I – I still love you. Perhaps more now than ever before. But I also respect your right to choose something different, and I'm not trying to push anything on you that you don't want. I'm happy for you and Robert. And if, now you know, you want to push the beds apart, or you want me to go, then-'

Patsy had been unable to look at Delia as she made her speech, her eyes remaining fixed on the ring in her outstretched palm. There was a part of her that still expected Delia to get up and leave without a word, or stare back in horrified disgust, and however out of character that might be, even the barest possibility was too much for Patsy to dare to risk.

So she was taken by surprise when a hand, still cool from the night outside, slipped into her own and gripped it firmly; the ring pressed between their palms. At last she lifted her eyes to meet Delia's gaze. There were fresh tears washing down her cheeks, but she was making no attempt to wipe them away.

'I broke up with Robert this evening Pats. That's what I was going to tell you. I think he was expecting it because he didn't seem surprised. I suppose it was obvious to him that my feelings belonged somewhere else...'

'Oh Delia, I'm so sorry... Is this my fault?'

Delia made a sound that might have been a laugh.

'It certainly would have saved a lot of confusion and heart ache over the last few weeks if you'd said something sooner, but... I do understand why you didn't, especially after I started up with Robert. And until then I suppose eventually I'd have remembered for myself and there wouldn't have been any need to take the risk'.

Delia sighed and withdrew her hand. There was definitely relief in her expression, but there was also confusion and vulnerability, and for all she had said about her reasons for leaving Robert, Patsy sensed that the conversation wasn't over.

'Deels... are we – are we alright? Do you want me to go?'

'Of _course_ not! Pats, this is more than I could have hoped for. I hardly dared to imagine it was possible for you to have feelings for me too. I _didn't_ dare. That was the whole reason I tried to convince myself I could be interested in a man instead. This is so wonderful.. But it's... well, it's a bit disconcerting I suppose. I already knew that you knew me better than I knew you of course. You had a long history of friendship that I don't have and I'd come to terms with that. But now there's a whole relationship I never even guessed at, and I'm afraid... what if I can't live up to that?'

'Oh Delia, I'm not comparing. It hasn't worked out exactly as we planned, but I love _you_. Not an idea of you from before, I love exactly who you are right now. Every day I fall in love with you again when you run across the cold floor to the bathroom rather than taking the extra moment to put your slippers on, or when you make yourself get up five minutes before I wake up to have coffee ready for me before my shift, or when I catch you dancing round the living room and singing full pelt when you don't realise I'm there. _Especially_ that one. I can't tell you how hard it is to suppress the urge to step in and sweep you up in a waltz. I know that's a lot to take in. What I'm saying is different from having abstract feelings for someone and I'm sorry if it's all too much. Just know that whatever you want, it's fine with me. If you want us to be together, or just to try out dating then... well I would absolutely love that. But equally if you would rather go on as friends I would never dream of pushing you for more. Whatever you want Deels'.

For a while there was silence between them as Delia took in all she had been told, her eyes boring into Patsy as if she was trying to convince herself she was real, that this wasn't a dream.

'You truly mean that?'

'I do, absolutely'.

'Can I ask you about... about before?'

'Of course! It's your history too. Whatever you want to know. No more holding back on that score, I promise'.

Delia was blushing now and looking desperately uncomfortable, but whatever it was she wanted to know was clearly important, and at last she found the words.

'Had we ever... I mean. Had we been... intimate... together. In... in bed. Oh, you know what I'm asking!'

Patsy felt her face getting hot. These were not things she talked about. Not in relation to herself. Not even euphemistically. She had to resist the urge to hide her burning face, but after all Delia had a right to know, and she _had_ promised to answer any questions she asked.

'No, we haven't. We'd only just moved in here when you were hurt and we were so used to being careful – in public we couldn't even touch hands for fear of someone knowing, so we were still a little shy I suppose. We hardly had any time at all, and what we did have... it was all very proper. We had a picnic'.

'So if we had a first time, it really would be our first time.. for both of us'.

'Yes'.

'Good. Not that I'm suggesting we should. I'm not... Not that... I mean... one day of course... That is, if... I just mean I'm glad it would be the first time for us both when- _if_ it happened. It would feel strange otherwise _._ I don't like the idea of someone knowing me so intimately without me knowing it. It's strange enough that you have so many memories I don't have without...that _._ Have we kissed?'

She added the last bit quickly, as if keen to move the subject back onto safe ground now she was sure that her body hadn't gone further than she was ready for it to without her permission. Her cheeks were glowing bright pink with embarrassment and she seemed unable to look Patsy in the eye, but she seemed relieved to know all the same. From the heat she could feel radiating from her own face Patsy suspected she was a similar shade of peony and was glad the conversation was moving to the safer ground of kisses.

'Yes, we've kissed. Often we had to keep our distance for the sake of appearances, but there were times we could safely be alone and yes, we did kiss in them'.

Delia tilted her head back to lean against the wall, still not quite able to catch Patsy's gaze as she continued in a tone that was a strange mixture of wistful and fierce.

'This is so hard Pats. There's so many questions I want to ask you. I what to know when and how long and who asked who and what it was like-'

'I'll tell you all of it Deels, right from the start if you want, we can-'

But Delia didn't let her finish, putting up a hand to stop the flow of reassurance.

'I know you will, and I want you to, but...'

She sighed again, a huff of frustration as she tried to find a way to put the tangle of her emotions into words.

'It's hard to explain it. Amnesia is such a strange thing. You never worry about being jealous of _yourself_ but now I find I am. I want to do this rationally and hear all about our past so I can have a chance of knowing as much about myself, and about _us_ as I can. I want to take some time to process what you've told me, because it's a lot Patsy, and although I understand why you kept quiet it is still a lot'.

Patsy nodded and opened her mouth for another apology, or an assurance that she wouldn't dream of doing anything Delia wasn't ready for, but before she could Delia turned at last and looked her straight in the eye.

'But right now... Right now all I can think is that _I_ want to kiss you Patsy. I want to have the memory of what your lips feel like against mine, not just the imagination of it. That's how I knew for sure it could never work with Robert, or any other boy. I had managed to fool myself into thinking dating him was working, but when eventually I gave in to his asking and let him kiss me tonight I couldn't help imagining how it would feel to be kissing _you_ instead. I wanted that so much. Pats. This is such a strange situation and maybe I shouldn't be asking like this, but after all we _have_ been living together a few months now and if what you say is true then in a way we're almost married. So maybe... maybe we could just skip some of it? Or put it on hold? Can I just kiss you, Patsy?'

'Oh Deels. I wish you would'.

Patsy was fairly sure she wasn't breathing at all as Delia reached out a hand tentatively towards her face. She didn't think she could remember how even if she wanted to, but it didn't matter. Mere oxygen could never compare with what was about to happen. She could hardly dare to believe that this was real and not some desperate dream.

'You're crying Pats'.

Until she said it Patsy had been entirely unaware of the tears. She shook her head, letting her own hand move to rest over Delia's fingers on her cheek.

'Happy tears. I just never thought I would get to do this again'.

'What a weepy evening we're having'.

Somehow their faces seemed to have moved closer together throughout this brief exchange, until Patsy could feel Delia's breath against her lips. For a moment she wasn't certain if it was her own heart or Delia's she could feel racing against the thin layers of fabric that separated them, and then their lips met and all she could think was how beautiful it was, at last, at last, at last. If it had been up to her, Patsy wasn't sure she would ever have been able to draw back even to take a breath, but suddenly Delia gasped and whispered something against her lips.

'What did you say?'

Delia repeated herself more clearly: 'Ginger'.

Patsy blinked, recalled from her Delia-kissing daze by the utter incongruity of the word.

'I- what? Did you _just_ notice my hair colour?'

'No, _ginger_. That kiss. It was... like tasting ginger'.

Delia was still gazing at her with a kind of wonder on her face, but try as she might Patsy couldn't make her words make sense.

'I haven't been eating ginger. Deels... are you quite alright?'

Delia shook her head, then nodded, then grabbed Patsy's hand, desperate for her to understand but too excited to explain. She took a deep breath to calm herself down and tried again.

'I know. Yes. More than alright. Pats, kissing you... it was like what happened when I smelled the gingerbread at Nonnatus House. At first it just felt so... comfortable and familiar and so much like home, and the more I used it the clearer the memory got'.

'Ah yes. It was certainly worth it for you to get all those memories of your grandmother back, but it will be a while before I can look at ginger the same way again. I think putting it in the mashed potatoes was a step too far...'

'No Pats you're still not getting it. Kissing you. _Kissing you was the ginger!_ I don't remember, quite... not yet. But it felt like it did then. It was familiar, it was the _beginning_ of remembering. Like it's all there, it just needs a little push'.

'And when you needed a little push with ginger, you ate rather a lot of it...'

'Yes'.

'So if you need a little push with kissing...'

' _YES._ Come here, Pats'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it folks, the culmination of two years (on and off) writing. THE END!
> 
> ... well, almost (gotcha :P). There is still an epilogue to go, which I'll probably post in about a week (because I'm going on holiday to the wilds of Wales soon, and probably won't have much/any internet access).
> 
> Until then, I really hope you enjoy this chapter, and that the release is worth the slow burn build up to it! Thank you so much to everyone who has read their way through the journey with me, especially everyone who leaves comments and sends messages - you have no idea how much happy squealing happens with the arrival of each and every one (please do let me know your thoughts on this chapter too!). So... that's all.
> 
> Until the epilogue, adieu!
> 
> PS. my apologies to tumblr's holdyourhearttight for the 'kiss and the spell broke' ending after all – hopefully it wasn't a total disappointment? It definitely didn't happen 4 chapters in at least! :P


	40. Chapter 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For context: this chapter begins just before the previous one ends, but from Delia's perspective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Cynicalrainbows and lunaunddiemaus for their support and encouragement to rewrite when this epilogue wasn't working and I was considering scrapping it! And for letting me know about the odd dodgy line :)
> 
> And thanks to everyone whose read right through to the end (because this really IS the end this time!). I hope you enjoy the final part :)

_Kissing Patsy was better than Delia could possibly have imagined. So unlike Robert's pushing lips that it was hard to believe the two activities could be described using the same word. She felt dizzy and breathless, and she couldn't decide whether the world was spinning too quickly or if it had stopped altogether, but whichever it was she was sure it couldn't possibly be going on as always. Not now that everything had changed so completely. She leaned in a little to deepen the kiss, her arms reaching round to bring Patsy towards her. Now they had finally breached the aching distance that had kept them apart these last weeks, Delia couldn't bear so much as an inch of space between them. As she drew Patsy closer still, something that had been lurking at the edge of her consciousness slipped into place. She_ knew _this feeling. Not in her mind perhaps, but her lips knew it, her muscles knew, the very blood in her veins remembered rising and rushing in response to Patsy's touch._

_This. Was. Familiar._

_The realisation made her gasp and she drew back involuntarily. Loath as she was to break the kiss, she needed to see Patsy's face, to convince herself that this chime of recognition was more than just wishful thinking._

_'Ginger'._

_The word slipped out without conscious thought as Delia realised what must be happening, her thoughts racing too fast to be confined neatly into the words of an explanation. The memories of nain that had followed from the scent and taste of ginger were the closest she could come to describing what was happening to her now, but all the same it was a poor, pale comparison. Nain had been someone she loved from her past, who never the less lived only in Delia's memories and had not been there as a focus for their recall. The memories had been soft, fuzzy-edged things, like chalk pictures that had been slightly smudged, or gentle dreams of a loving childhood to be clung to on waking lest they should slip away entirely. But Patsy was here in front of her. She was flesh and blood and erratic heartbeats pounding together in the same rhythm after months of beating out of sync. The memories that Delia could feel pushing at the bounds of conscious knowing like a word on the tip of her tongue now were altogether more visceral._

_There was comfort here certainly, and familiarity, and the safety that can only be found within the circle of loving arms; but all the same it felt as different to remembering nain as gentle bedtime candlelight was different to the blazing noon day sun. There was passion, and a love so fierce it could stand up and roar in the face of social disapproval, ready always to fight,_ _and keep on fighting for this girl in front of her if that's what it took._

_All the time this had been going through her head, Delia had been trying to put it into words for Patsy, and it was like moving in glacial slow motion compared to the rush of her thoughts. At last she saw the light of understanding in her eyes and answered Patsy's final question with a joyful affirmative._

_'_ YES. C _ome here, Pats'._

_As she drew them together once more she felt the memories surge again, so close to being known that she could almost taste them._

… _..._

 _That had been four months ago now. Four months since the days filled with long, languorous kisses and urgent, hungry kisses and soft, sleepy kisses that were more contact than movement. And now Delia knew. She knew how she had met Patsy as a trainee nurse and been a little afraid of her – the sharp, older student who was as brilliant as she was formidable. She knew that Patsy had shown her how to fold and pin her cap when her nervous fingers had sent it tumbling to the floor yet again, five minutes before she was due on the ward. She knew how gentle and patient the hands that guided hers had been in spite of their reputation. Patsy had smiled at her, had made a joke, and offered an excuse to the stern matron that had had her nodding approval at both of them. Delia had taken her grandmother's advice and asked Patsy to the cinema – her treat for the help that first week. They had become firm friends after that, and then, so slowly, more than friends. It had happened so naturally that Delia had hardly given credence to the idea that it might be_ wrong _. Of course it wasn't. She knew now what it was like to be alone, and she could never believe that a world that contained more love could ever be inferior to one that held less._

 _It was this very explanation that Delia rehearsed in her head as she wheeled her bicycle home carefully with one hand, the other cradled close against her chest. Patsy had made her take a cycling proficiency course before she let her anywhere near the roads again, but at last she had declared Delia safe to cycle (two weeks_ after _she had passed the course with flying colours as it happened, but Patsy's protectiveness came from a place of love and Delia didn't mind). She couldn't now jeopardise that by trying to cycle one handed, and the other hand was very much otherwise engaged. So, walking home it was. It wasn't too far really, but the bicycle was awkward to steer and kept banging into her ankle (no doubt ruining her stocking in the process), and it was a relief when she finally reached the turning into their road._

_With some difficulty Delia manoeuvred into the hallway, catching the faint scent of that morning's coffee still lingering in the air, like a ghost of Patsy's presence beside her. Patsy herself wouldn't be home for a little while yet, and for once Delia was glad. It would give her time to prepare. The door swung shut behind her with a muffled bang, and the thing she was holding gave a little squeak of fright, shifting in its linen wrappings._

_Actually, what it was wrapped in was Delia's formerly pristine new white nurse's cap, now rapidly turning a grubby grey as its occupant rubbed against it. But it hardly mattered right now, she could wash it later. Abandoning her coat and bag, Delia set the cap very carefully on the table._

_A few moments passed, and then a tiny pink nose peeped out over the rim, followed shortly thereafter by a set of dusty whiskers in an equally grubby face, and wide blue eyes that gazed back at Delia in unfocused puzzlement. The kitten was very young, eyes newly open and small even for it's estimated age. Quite probably it was the runt of a stray litter, abandoned by its mother and close to starving by the time Delia came across it, its pitiful mewling drawing her attention to where it hid beneath a stack of crates by the docks. It cut an utterly pathetic figure, one ear torn, one forepaw raised and obviously painful, the little shoot of its tail crooked and quite possibly broken._

_She couldn't just leave it._

_The kitten hadn't even tried to run away when she approached, just hunkered down on its haunches and mewled at her again, ears flattened. Delia had picked it up and tucked it into her cap – the only thing readily at hand to act as swaddling and prevent her hand being scratched to ribbons by the terrified claws of a baby that didn't know it was being rescued._

_Now they were inside, the kitten seemed surprisingly untroubled by its new surroundings, and stayed contentedly in the cap while Delia heated some water and gathered first aid supplies. It was rather less keen on the washing process, but in spite of the yowls of protest she didn't get badly scratched or bitten; and by the time she was finished dabbing it down with a wet cloth Delia was pleasantly surprised to discover that in fact the kitten's fur was not greyish brown but a deep shade of orange, closer to human hair colour than the usual pale ginger of a cat. He (as Delia could now attest the kitten was), was actually rather a handsome little creature under all that dirt and matted blood._

_She had dealt with the cut ear and paw pad and was just finishing bandaging the kitten's tail when she heard a key in the lock, and Patsy's voice calling to her from the hall._

_'In here Pats!'_

_'Hello Deels. Good grief it's good to be home, Mrs Spencer-'_

_'...Delia is that what I think it is?'_

_'Ah... yes. Well Pats, I found him down by the docks, and- and a world that has more love in can never be worse than one with less. That is, he was hurt... bother I had my convincing speech all worked out, with dimples in all the right places and everything'._

_'You found a kitten?'_

_'Yes... but we needn't keep him if you'd really rather not. Once he's healed and he's a bit stronger we could find a home for him through the cubs. Or perhaps Dr Turner would take him for Angela. He's such an endearing little thing I'm sure someone would want him'._

_Delia checked Patsy's expression for signs of annoyance, but her initial surprise was melting into the soft look that seemed reserved for Delia and newborn babies alone._

_'_ You _want him'._

_It wasn't a question, but Delia nodded anyway, a little shamefaced. Ever since they had painted the flat in what seemed now another life time, Delia had been harbouring secret dreams of getting a pet together. It was an affirmation of their permanence as a couple, to co-care for another living creature. Besides, she had always wanted a cat and never been allowed one growing up. But in all her imaginings she had never intended to foist one on Patsy without her approval._

_'But if you don't Pats...'_

_Patsy came over to join Delia at the table and gazed down at the little bundle of fluff and whiskers that was at that moment apparently trying to lick Delia's thumb into submission._

_'We'll have to see about getting him some tins of formula from Nonnatus. I'm sure they'll work as well for infant cats as humans. And he's going to need a name'._

_'Really? We're keeping him?'_

_'Well it's certainly preferable to sneaking into a zoo to steal you a sloth, and it'll be rather nice to have the company when you're working late'._

_'Oh Pats. Thank you!'_

_Still holding the cat gently with one arm, Delia circled the other round her girlfriend's waist and drew her in for a grateful kiss. She had wondered at times, during the flurry of memories and emotions that followed the first turbulent evening, whether kissing Patsy would lose some of its magic when it was no longer associated with regaining her lost past. It had been weeks now since the last flashes of insight had settled into place however, and the kisses had never lost their dazzle. Even the merest brushing of lips was enough to make Delia feel like a can of tizer that had been shaken hard, the fizz of joy and love building up in her to a pressure that could only be released through contact._

_When at last the kiss broke, Patsy smiled down at the kitten and reached out a finger to tickle him behind the ears._

_'He really does have the most extraordinary fur'._

_'Rather like yours'._

_Patsy feigned affront at that._

_'Delia Busby, are you calling me a cat?'_

_Grinning up at her, Delia shook her head._

_'Not at all. I'm calling the cat Patsy'._

_The idea had struck her all of a sudden, but now she had it she couldn't help thinking how well it suited. The cat even had big blue eyes and a rather stern expression that was utterly contradicted by its kittenish cuteness. Just like Patsy's._

_'Don't you think that would be a little confusing? Why don't we just call him Marmalade? Or Tiger?'_

_'Well I'm sure you'd be able to figure out whether I meant you or the cat when I was offering a nice saucer of kippers, but we could change it a bit. He can be Catsy instead. Short for Cat Patsy'._

_Patsy frowned at her, but she seemed to be trying not to laugh._

_'You can't give the cat kippers Delia, they've got bits of bone in, he'd choke!'_

_Delia grinned back, sensing her victory._

_'Sorry, who was it that can't have kippers?'_

_With a roll of her eyes, Patsy took the kitten from her hands and scrutinised his face carefully, as if looking for traces of herself in it before giving her consent. At last a hint of her trademark one sided smile touched her lips and she gave in._

_'Oh alright then you ridiculous creature._ Catsy _can't have kippers. There. Are you satisfied?'_

_'Entirely, and not just with the kitten'._

_And it was true. Everything Delia could have wanted was right here. She had a job she thrived in, and a kitten, and a home to share with the woman she loved. And even if the rest of the world would never know the angel she had found in Patience Mount, Delia would get to spend every night for the rest of her life within reach of her hand across the pillows. She could kiss her without fear within these walls, and wear her ring openly (even if not on her finger), and be in all ways but one, her wife. Reaching for Patsy's free hand, Delia sighed contentedly as their fingers met and twined together. It was perfect. At last, and against all the odds, it was perfect._


End file.
